Hole 180
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Set after the events of my LOTF fanfic "Davidson"; instead of being sent to military school, Jack N. Merridew is given a year at Camp Green Lake. He takes the place of X-Ray in the overall course of the story. Stanley Yelnats IV arrives after he's been there six months- and become the first 'camper' to escape Camp Green Lake. Or even try.
1. Chapter 1- Jack's Escape

**Chapter I- Jack's Escape**

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**A/N: Technically this story is a Crossover; it introduces a character from the 1990 film of "Lord of the Flies" into the 2003 movie of "Holes". However, since so much of my descriptions of Jack- and especially his background and family- are my work, I figured I could safely class it as a regular "Holes" fanfiction if I wanted to. Just remember that the Jack Merridew I describe here is derived from the character as he appears in the 1990 movie, played by Chris Furrh. Like I said, though, the vast majority of Jack as he's described here is my character and mine alone. As a Word document, this story ended up being 152 pages long; as of 4-14-2013 it is the longest written work of any kind that I've ever written.**

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It was past dark, and Jack was still digging his hole. He'd been here a week, and each and every day had been agonizing so far. Jack's body had never known this kind of abuse; muscles he didn't know existed were sore, and his hands were in the worst shape he'd ever seen them. He had taken until after dark more than once; much to the amusement of the camp staff- and the other boys- Jack was easily the richest boy at Camp Green Lake. He'd hardly ever done manual labor in his life- and he certainly didn't know how to dig holes.

"Come on, Richie!" Louis Baker, better known as "Barf Bag", called, clapping his hands half in sarcasm, half in genuine support. He and a few of the other D Tent boys had walked the half mile out from the camp to see Jack finish; Mr. Sir could have given a damn, since he was half-asleep beside his truck.

"Fuck me raw through a flavour straw!" Jack called, not bothering to lift his head. He dug the shovel into the darkened depths of the hole, tossing the dirt out carelessly. A chorus of laughter greeted Jack's wit.

"And my name's not Richie!" Jack yelled irritably.

"Yeah, it is!"

"Dude, you like, the richest kid _here_!"

Big Time, D Tent's de facto leader, laughed. "Richie Rich, man. He's gonna buy the whole camp, and all the scorpions, dirt, and yellow-spotted lizards in it."

Jack just shook his head, returning to the business of digging his hole. For his first week here his pride had held, as did his stubborn refusal to believe he was even being relegated to something like this. His father could have easily got him off, just sent him to a boarding school or something instead. But no; after Jack had stolen that car while fleeing his girlfriend's house- and her enraged father- his dad had hit the roof. Enough was enough; something had to change. So Jack was tossed before the judge, and this time, it was up to the judge. Nothing would go on Jack's record- but only after he'd done his time.

Worse still was the fact that Jack lived nowhere near Texas; his family came from a state much farther to the northeast. It was cooler there, and certainly nowhere near as hot. Jack's home state had no deserts- no wide, seemingly-limitless expanses of barren land. In the middle of one such cheery space of real estate sat Camp Green Lake- and Jack was going to be calling it home for the next year.

Jack dug steadily for a few more minutes, then finally threw the shovel aside. Swearing bitterly, he climbed up and looked over towards the water truck and Mr. Sir- and suddenly got an idea.

The boys from his tent had turned around and started heading back; Jack began crawling out across the still-warm ground, nodding to himself. It would probably be best if those loud-mouths didn't see him now- they'd probably start doing a running commentary and wake Mr. Sir up.

The truck was a big Ford, an old one from somewhere in the '90's. It had a dual axle at the back; had the F-350 mounted a diesel engine, it would have been Jack's favourite kind of truck. It sat parked amidst a sea of holes, dark and silent. The lanky, clever blonde whose hair was looking the worst it had in months went prone, moving silently across the barren ground and towards the front of the truck. Rising to his feet, Jack glanced at Mr. Sir- still conked out, snoring now and then as he leaned up against a pile of dirt near the truck. That was odd; Jack hadn't noticed him move. It wasn't important, though.

Not if the keys were in the truck.

Wary of waking the leather-faced supervisor, Jack crept up to the driver's door and hauled himself in through the open window. When he sat up behind the wheel, finding he was once again just tall enough to both see above the steering wheel and reach the pedals with his feet, Jack wanted to whoop for joy.

The keys were next to him on the seat.

Picking them up in one pale hand, Jack snickered as he put them in the ignition. He'd done this before, not all that long ago- and was about to prove he'd warned quite literally nothing from the experience.

Jack pushed the keys forward; the dashboard lights came on. One more push forward and he'd have the truck moving in no time. Briefly, Jack realised he'd had no experience using a stick shift. He shrugged; the hell with it. He'd figure it out as he went. After all, that worked out so well last time.

With a bemused snicker, Jack shoved the keys forward; the truck's engine roared, and Jack flipped the headlights on. The blonde struggled with the transmission briefly; it was old and difficult to work with. But luckily, Jack got the whole clutch-and-gearshift thing figured out in time; he had the Ford racing backwards by the time Mr. Sir jumped up and was on his feet.

"Hey! Hey, Jack- you get your sorry butt back here! I'm warnin' you!"

Jack just threw his head back and laughed, shifting the truck into first gear and racing away, weaving through the fields of holes and making his way towards the main road. It went on for miles, that dirt road- but in the end, it linked up with a road that would take him to the highway. Jack was sure of it.

Mr. Sir kept up his yells, but soon enough he gave up the effort, deciding it would be more effective to run for a phone. Jack sped off down the road with a wild, reckless grin on his face; he'd really outdone himself. He'd gotten away.

Just as Mr. Sir placed a timely call to the Texas Highway Patrol, Jack realised he had no idea where he was supposed to drive once he got to the highway; he was farther from home than he'd ever been. And he was wearing an orange prison uniform; even if Mr. Sir had left enough cash in the truck's cab to fill up with once the time came, Jack would definitely look strange at a Texas gas station. Or any gas station, for that matter; fifteen-year-old boys didn't usually arrive at gas stations in all-orange clothes, driving a pickup truck with a big water tank on the back.

After a few minutes of driving, Jack just shrugged. He'd wing it all the way back to the East Coast; there was always another car to steal. He'd just get rid of this one after enough miles. In the end, he'd figure something out- after all, he wasn't like most people. He was Jack.

Unfortunately, though, Jack had not taken into account the truck's gas gauge, halfway down at the time he started it up after dark. Jack ran out of gas just in time to get spotted by the Highway Patrol.


	2. Chapter 2- Six Months Later

**Chapter II- Six Months Later**

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The school bus was yellow, just like all the rest, and it had the same growling diesel engine and the same brown seats. Unlike most of its kind of bus, though, this one had black letters spelling TEXAS YOUTH AUTHORITY on the side, and it had a state trooper holding a shotgun as one of its only passengers.

Two boys, one in a gray t-shirt, jeans, and a red hat, and the other in dusty prison orange, sat across the aisle from each other, three rows back from the front.

Clutching a backpack and looking nervously around, the kid on the left, the 'new meat' with the curly brown hair, had tried to talk with his fellow passenger, the grim-faced blonde who kept grumbling and staring at his handcuffs. The blonde was a handsome boy with a lean, bony frame, silvery-blonde hair, and a pale, pointed face. If anything, he looked more miserable than Stanley.

So far, every effort Stanly had made to talk with him had been rebuffed- mostly just by silence.

As they closed in on the camp, driving straight down the dirt road past miles and miles of empty barren land- and hundreds upon hundreds of holes- Stanly looked over and tried to talk with his fellow passenger again. This kid had to be an old hand here; he might be able to tell Stanley some things he'd very much need to know once he got off the bus. And who could tell? It was never a bad thing to make friends.

"So… where's the lake?" Stanley hadn't seen it yet, and figured that might be a good question to start with.

Still glaring down at his handcuffs, the blonde said, "You gotta be kidding me."

Stanley tried again. "Well, how is it here? I'm new-"

"Yeah, no shit."

The fourth Stanley Yelnats blinked a little, surprised; he couldn't see why this kid was so grumpy.

"I'm just coming in today," Stanley said, "I was hoping one of the vets like you could help me get used to things. You know."

Flattery seemed to work better; the boy across the aisle smiled, and right away Stanley got a sense flattery probably worked better on him than anything else. He seemed like the type who, ordinarily, cared a great deal about his personal appearance.

The blonde looked up and over at Stanley, smirking just a little. "Okay, fine. What's your name, new guy? How long are you here?"

Relieved that the other passenger was finally talking to him, Stanley smiled a little. Maybe the kid would soften up a little more, and before long he'd make a friend. "Stanley Yelnats IV; I'm here for eighteen months."

The kid just laughed. "Okay, Stanley Yelnats the _Fourth_; here's what I can tell you." With great care and deliberation, the blonde paused and then said, "You are now in The Suck. Embrace it, accept it- and know there's not a friggin' thing I can or will do to make it better for you. I'm not your momma, and I don't give a shit."

Then the smile dropped off the blonde's face so fast it had clearly not been real, and he returned to facing forward, busy with his own thoughts.

Stanley stared; he'd never heard a kid talk like that- not when they had only just met. "What kind of an attitude is that?" Stanley asked, and the kid's lips flattened into a thin line.

_That does it._

With blinding speed, the blonde kid jumped up and shot out a leg, kicking Stanley hard. "Listen, kid- shut your fat ass; I'll _fuck you up_!"

While Stanley recoiled, bewildered and wondering what he had done, the guard with the shotgun moved about as fast as Jack had just done. He whacked the blonde boy in the stomach with it just as he was gearing up to kick Stanley's ass, and suddenly the blonde was plenty busy with his own affairs again. He dropped to his knees, doubled over, coughing and gagging.

"That's enough of that, kid," the guard growled, "You got plenty to worry about yourself."

"I fucked your mom," the boy gasped, and Stanley was sure there was a smirk on the boy's face.

The guard stepped closer, his face darkening. "What was that?"

The blonde looked up, strands of his silvery-blonde hair hanging down over his face. "I said, I'm feeling calm."

The guard glowered, but ultimately just shook his head and sat back down. "You Green Lake boys are some weird dudes."

The blonde got back into his seat on the bus, and it rattled and growled onward as it closed in on the camp ahead.

Stanley considered at least asking the kid's name, but thought better of it. Now didn't seem quite the time.

The bus pulled into the collection of dusty buildings and olive-drab tents a few minutes later, and from the cheering, whooping and clapping that the boys in the orange outfits started sending up, Stanley gathered this lanky blonde was some kind of hero. When he glanced over and saw a grin widening on the blonde's face as he looked outside, Stanley knew his guess had been right.

Then, when they were getting off, the blonde kid stepped outside dramatically, raising his cuffed hands high over his head and grinning in acknowledgement of the cheers.

"'ey, yo, Richie Rich is _back_, man!" a large black boy called.

"Wouldn't be Camp Green Lake without the token rich white boy!"

"Hey, Richie, can you buy me a lawyer? One that don't suck?"

The blonde kid just grinned and shouted, "Thank you, Camp Green Lake! Thank you very much! I'm here all week!"

"Yeah, and for the next six months after that!" the big black boy called, and everybody laughed.

Well- almost everyone. The guard didn't seem to think it was funny.

Abruptly, the guard stepped off the bus, elbowing Stanley out of the way. "Come on, big-shot," he growled, grabbing the blonde by the collar and dragging him inside what looked like the camp office.

The blonde managed to get the last word, though; as he was dragged inside, he pointed at Stanley, and yelled, "_De la chair fraiche_!"

For some reason, this too was greeted with a chorus of cheers. Stanley looked around, noticing everybody was pointing at him now.

"Hey, yo, fresh meat!" somebody called. Stanley gathered that was what the blonde's yell in French had meant.

Still holding his bag, Stanley looked around for the guard and saw he'd come back outside; he was now standing on the porch.

Looking about the camp, Stanley said, "So… where's the lake?"

"Hey," the guard said impatiently, "What'd I just tell you? Don't be a wise guy. Follow me."

Inside the office, it was almost as dry and hot as it had been outside. There was an electric fan, though, and any roof over one's head meant an improvement over being outdoors. The office had only a small amount of crude wooden furniture, an old safe, and a refrigerator that looked like it might have been in the office since the fifties.

Mr. Sir sat behind the desk, crunching on sunflower seeds he was picking out of a bowl. As Stanley came in, the blonde was already coming out. He bumped into Stanley as the guard led him in, giving him that mocking smile again. Stanley started to wonder about this kid, and if he hadn't somehow done the wrong thing by talking to him.

"What's your name, man?"

The blonde just shrugged, smirking. "I'm Richie Rich. Didn't you hear?"

"Get outta my friggin office, then, Mr. Fancypants!" Mr. Sir yelled, and the blonde winced a little.

"What's your real name, man? I wanna know." Stanley just needed to, for some reason. He had to know the name of the first guy he met here.

The blonde's blue eyes narrowed dangerously then, and he stepped closer until their faces almost touched.

"I'll remember you, fresh meat," the boy hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "I promise you that." He paused. "My name's Jack."

"Jack what?"

"Jack Merridew."

Then the guard gave Jack a shove and the blonde walked out of the office, his hands already freed from the cuffs.


	3. Chapter 3- The New Guy

**Chapter III- The New Guy**

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Stanley was being walked to his tent in camp, D Tent, one of a small city of square, olive-drab tents that looked like Eisenhower had designed them. Dr. Pendanski, the camp counselor, had given him a brief tour, issuing him his uniforms and explaining some of the basics of how Camp Green Lake worked.

As they neared a tent with a black D stenciled on it, Jack came around a corner between tents D and C, two other boys in tow.

"Hey, Mom!" the boy called. "What's with this Neanderthal?"

Stanley considered saying something, but thought better of it.

"This?" Dr. Pendanski said. "This is Stanley."

"So what's happenin' with Barf Bag?" That question came from the large black boy at Jack's right; Stanley recalled he'd greeted both Jack and Stanley earlier when the two had gotten off the bus.

Dr. Pendanski was a little hesitant at that question, it seemed. "Oh, Louis- won't be returning. He's still in the hospital."

Pointing from left to right, Dr. Pendanski went on, "Stanley, meet Alan, Jack, and Theodore."

Stepping forward, his eyes narrowing in dislike, Jack said, "Hey, my name is Richie Rich." He pointed to the boy Dr. Pendanski had called Alan, and to the one called Theodore. "That's Squid; that's Armpit."

Gesturing with his chin towards Dr. Pendanski, the blonde said, "That's Mom."

Smiling indulgently, Dr. Pendanski said to Stanley, "They all have their little nicknames; but I prefer to call them by the names their parents have them. The ones society will recognize them by!" Looking at Theodore- or was Stanley supposed to call him Armpit? - Dr. Pendanski said, "Theodore, why don't we show Stanley his cot?"

'Theodore' looked bored to death at the idea, but he threw a glance at the lanky blonde. Jack nodded once. "Go ahead, Pit."

He then watched as Dr. Pendanski led Stanley inside, finally shaking his head and following. This new guy was something else. But he'd learn- he'd get the picture soon enough. That was what Jack had made all his friends here for.

The tent actually stood a foot or so off the ground, on a platform of wood boards. Jack brushed Stanley out of the way, flopping down on a cot at the far end of the room. Stanley inherited Barf Bag's cot, causing Jack's face to twitch in amusement; Barf Bag had once marked his bed with his namesake, and it had never smelled quite the same since.

Two more boys walked into the tent; Magnet and Zigzag, who Jack by now knew well. Dr. Pendanski said, "Theodore will be your mentor. Right, Theodore?"

The large boy, lying on his bed and looking none too interested, just shrugged. "Yeah, man. Whatever, dude."

One boy lay on his cot near the entrance- in fact, right across from Stanley's new cot- saying absolutely nothing as introductions were made. He had tan skin, and brown, curly hair. Stanley eyed him curiously; who was this? He didn't look like he was part of the lanky blonde kid's group, despite living in the same tent.

Dr. Pendanski walked over just as Stanley was wondering about that. Pointing, he said with that same upbeat attitude, "And this- is Zero. You wanna know why they call him Zero? 'Cause there's _nothin'_ goin' on in his _stupid_ little head!"

Zero didn't look like he cared for that at all, but he just let the chuckles roll off him, like he was used to it.

Stanley again wondered who this boy was- and what made him different from the others.

As he started to walk out of the tent, Dr. Pendanski pointed at Armpit. "Remember, Theodore- I'm counting on you!"

'Richie Rich' spoke up then. "Hey, his name's _Armpit_, all right? I dunno why we gotta keep _explainin'_ this to you, Mom."

Ignoring the blonde, Dr. Pendanski headed outside, leaving them with the slogan, "It should be no labor, to be nice to your neighbor."

Stanley looked around briefly, noticing everybody was staring at him.

A tall, blonde kid with messy blonde hair- a much worse version of Richie Rich's, which looked like it had once been very well-conditioned and fine- looked at Stanley, his eyes darting around rapidly. He appeared to be constantly alert- probably to the point of paranoia.

"Should we tell him about the lizards, Richie?"

The blonde just laughed. "Nah, he'll get to see them soon enough. No sense in scarin' him."

He got up then, ignoring Stanley as he walked up to the front of the tent. Planting a shoe on Zero's bed, he said with mock playfulness, "Come on, Zero. Don't you wanna say hello to the FNG?"

Facing the wall of the tent, Zero said nothing.

Now Richie's face took on a look of mock disappointment. "Aw, Zero still don't wanna talk." Throwing a glare at Stanley, he said, "I sure wish this guy would follow your example. It'd be the first time you did anything worth talkin' about, Zero."

Stanley opened his mouth to say something, but the brown-blonde haired kid- Zigzag- held a hand out. Better just let this one go, his eyes said, and reluctantly Stanley stayed quiet.

Finally, 'Richie Rich' gave up, losing interest- but then spun around, pointed at the smaller kid's cot, and shouted, "_Prends le petit_!"

Abruptly, Zigzag and Richie rushed over and flipped Zero's mattress, dumping him onto the floor. Laughing uproariously, the two boys walked out of D Tent and headed for the showers, each with a towel thrown over his shoulder.

The rest of the D Tent boys just shook their heads, turning to tasks of their own. Feeling uneasy, Stanley looked around. "Is he always that nice?" Stanley asked, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"Hey, yo, Richie Rich is hardcore, man," Armpit said, beating dust off his moth-eaten pillow. "He's the only dude ever ran away from this place two times."

"Yeah, man," the Hispanic kid- Magnet- said. "Nobody else even ran away _once_."

Stanley gaped; he remembered Mr. Sir mentioning Camp Green Lake was the only place with water for 100 miles.

"What? How'd he do it? Why didn't he get away?"

The dark-haired boy called Squid just shrugged, leaning back on his cot. "Well, first time he stole Mr. Sir's truck. Just unlucky I guess; he ran outta gas just as he got on the highway. Second time he tried to hitch a ride out when Barf Bag left."

Laughing, Magnet said, "Yeah, I heard he, like, stowed away in the ambulance or something!"

Squid looked at Stanley and drawled, "This one time, he met the Warden- told her she was pretty."

Everybody laughed, but briefly Stanley remembered the blonde boy did have three neat slash-marks on the left side of his face, the scars still slowly fading.

"What'd she do?" Stanley said, unable to keep his curiosity silent.

The boys winced at the memory. Zigzag shrugged. "She told him he'd broke a rule, is what she did."

"Man," Armpit said, "Richie Rich breaks _all_ the rules, dude. At least once."

Stanley sat down on his cot, listening to the other D Tent boys talk about the lanky blonde with almost blatant admiration- clearly, he was their de facto leader.

"Well, who is he?" Stanley asked. "I mean, how'd he get here?"

Armpit started to say something, but Zero rolled over and sat up, looking square at the new guy in D Tent. "He's an asshole. That's all he is."

The other boys in D Tent stared; more than one of them seemed to have forgotten his mouth was hanging open. "Dude, he got Zero to _talk_!"

But Zero just rolled back over and stared at the wall, wishing he'd never been given the same tent as Jack Merridew- whether or not everybody here called him Richie Rich.


	4. Chapter 4- The First Supper

**Chapter IV- The First Supper**

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Stanley watched with a certain interest as Richie entered the long wooden shack that acted as a mess hall- like all the buildings at Camp Green Lake besides the Warden's cabin, the mess hall looked like anything harsher than a strong breeze might cause it to suddenly fall over. Richie moved easily among the other campers, slapping palms and bumping fists as he went. Stanley, for his part, watched this with a measure of envy when he got in line- Richie was apparently quite at ease in social settings, something Stanley had never been quite so good at.

The lanky blonde's status in D Tent clearly extended outside its olive drab walls; at one plain wooden table with benches to either side for seats, Richie sat at the head of the table with Armpit to his right and Zigzag to his left. Those two, it seemed, were the ones he liked the best. Zero, accordingly, sat at the far end, off to the side.

Just as Stanley was looking around hesitantly, unsure of where to sit down, Zigag looked up and spotted him. "Hey, Stanley! Over here, man. This is where you sit."

Magnet, sitting to Zigag's left, moved over to make space on the bench. As Stanley sat down, Richie smoothed back his blonde hair a little, flashing a brilliant white smile. "Well, Stanley," he began, suddenly recalling the new guy's name, "You haven't been out in the hot sun digging all day… so, you wouldn't mind giving your bread to someone who _was_, now _would_ you?"

Before Stanley could say anything else, the blonde stood up, snatched the two slices of white bread off his tray, tossed them back on his own tray and sat down again.

Feeling a little cowed and not wanting to anger the apparent leader of his tent any further, Stanley just nodded. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

Squid looked at him intently. "So what'd they get you for?"

The inevitable question at anyplace like Camp Green Lake.

Stanley looked hesitantly up at the dark-haired boy, noticing right away everybody at the table was looking at him. "I stole a pair of shoes," he said quietly, and Jack laughed, soon joined by the other boys at the table.

"Shoes?" Squid scoffed, clearly in disbelief.

"Aw, man, shoes," Armpit said, chuckling. "That's hardcore, Richie. You just got one-upped, man."

Jack snorted and nearly lost the sandwich he'd just taken a bite of. "Uh, wow. You're a tough dude, new guy."

Quieting the others down, Zigzag darted his eyes around with that wide-eyed look he always seemed to have. "No, no, no, guys, he just forgot a little detail or three. Like how you _killed_ the man was wearin' the shoes _first_, right, Stanley?"

Stanley looked around, speaking quietly. "They were Clyde Livingston's shoes."

Gasps, looks of amazement. Even Jack stared at Stanley now, amazement plain on his face.

"What?"

"_Sweet_ Feet?"

Jack shook his head, disbelieving. "Man, you did _not_ steal Clyde Livingston's shoes. No _way_, dude."

"Man, isn't he, like, the fastest dude in the tournament?" Magnet asked.

Zero looked up, listening to the conversation with real interest.

Squid looked at Stanley. "Well, where'd you find 'em?"

"They were at this homeless shelter," Stanley said, "They were having this exhibition. The shoes were right there on this table."

"Did they have red X's on them?"

A fork clattered down on a steel tray. Everybody at D Tent's table turned; Zero had asked that question.

"You got Zero to _talk_!" Squid said, staring between Zero and Stanley in amazement. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did," Stanley said, unsure of just what was so significant about it.

"Man, that's _twice_ today!" Armpit said. "Hey, what else can you do, Zero?"

Zero said nothing. At the end of the table, Jack stared at the small, quiet boy in silence, a concentrated frown on his face. Suddenly, he looked to Armpit, sitting at his right. "When did Zero talk before this today?"

"Oh, just after you and Zigzag left, man. It was weird, dude."

Stanley glanced at Jack then, spotting the puzzled frown on the blonde's face. "He said you were an asshole."

Everybody quieted down then; the immediate issue at the table became what Jack's reaction would be.

Jack's eyes glinted dangerously, and for just a moment he tensed in his chair. Then the moment passed, whatever it was, and he leaned back, laughing a little. "Well, Zero, at least you're honest, huh? Dumb as a friggin' lamp-post but you're honest. Yeah, I'll give you that."

Jack returned to his rations then, apparently losing interest in the whole thing; the others followed his lead. Zero continued poking his food and occasionally eating it, while Stanley concentrated on getting the nourishment he knew his body would very much need before long, thinking and wondering about these boys he'd be spending the next year and a half with. They weren't much like his friends from back home; that was for sure.

Just as everyone was getting up and turning in their trays, though, Stanley felt a hand slam his tray back down. He looked up and he saw Jack, the blonde boy's face impassive. "Quit trying so hard at making impressions, new guy. The one kid you wanna impress here is me, and I ain't impressed yet. You just save your strength." Then his face broke into a smile, and he added, "Tomorrow you're gonna need it."

That night, though, long after the others were asleep, two boys stayed up, troubled with their own thoughts. One was Stanley, missing home and thinking about the family's legends about their chronic misfortune- in particular, where it had all supposedly begun, in the countryside of Latvia with his no-good, dirty-rotten, pig-stealing great-great-grandfather.

The other was Jack, missing his own home and family, the luxuries of the life he'd known in the past… and thinking of his father, and how little Jack really knew of just what kind of international business his father did. He'd made the mistake of getting caught looking around in his father's home office one day, not long before his grand escape from Megan Baker's that summer.

Jack's father had been furious, enough so that for once even untamable Jack had been cowed. Jack trusted his father, respected and admired him- even loved him, though the blond teenager shied away from the word. But briefly, before falling asleep that night, he wondered if his 12-month sentence here in Texas wasn't just because of his arrest. Perhaps it had also been to get him out of the way.


	5. Chapter 5- A New Day

**Chapter V- A New Day**

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The big-shots at Camp Green Lake must have liked to use a certain military theme for the start and end of the day, because "Reveille" blared out of loudspeakers around the camp at 6AM that morning, while Stanley could have sworn he heard "Taps" played late last night.

Whatever the case, the boys were soon up long before dawn, grumbling, groaning and stretching. Getting straight to business, a shouting Mr. Sir gathered the boys near a wood shed cheerfully labeled "LIBRARY" in white, hand-painted letters. "Let's go, ladies!" he called, "This inn't no Girl Scout camp!" Stanley was already coming to understand Mr. Sir liked saying that. A lot.

Stanley fell in line with the others, picking a shovel at random when his turn came. As he headed away from the shed, though, somebody smacked him hard on the back of his head. Jack, seeing he had Stanley's attention once he turned around, matter-of-factly snatched the shovel Stanley was holding and dropped another on the ground beside him. "You took my shovel," Jack said, then walked away.

Briefly, Stanley looked after the lanky blonde in confusion; what did it matter if the shovels all looked the same? But Magnet came up beside him, followed by Squid. "That's Richie's shovel, man," Magnet said, "It's shorter than the rest of them."

Squid nodded to Stanley. "Shorter shovel, smaller hole."

Jack said next to nothing at breakfast; most of the boys didn't. Despite the majority having been here for more than 2 months, none were all that fond of getting up at 6 in the morning. Stanley kept blinking to stay awake, and at one point nearly fell face-down on his burrito, much to the other D Tent boys' amusement.

Breakfast was no lengthy affair, though- before Stanley even knew it, they were up and on the march, carrying their shovels out to where they'd be digging their holes today. Even after having been at the camp for half a year, Jack marveled at how empty the land was, how it seemed to just go on forever. In the Southwest, a mountain range stood some vast distance away- Jack doubted anyone could ever get that far on foot; not without a steady supply of water. At least in that direction the hard, barren land had an end- but to the Northeast, back the way the road to freedom went- in that direction, the desert literally just stretched out endlessly, until forever touched the horizon.

As the sun slowly began climbing into the sky, Jack stood at the spot he'd picked out for his hole, a couple feet from some of the other boys. He slapped palms with Zigzag, wishing his best friend good luck today.

Jack didn't understand quite why he and Zigzag got along so well, but as impulsive as he was, Jack understood the value of trusting one's instincts. If a friendship happened and worked well, it didn't pay to get into the business of questioning the how and why of it too much. That made no difference to him. As he started to dig, though, cracking the hardened surface of the sun-baked earth with a few well-placed jabs of the shovel, Jack figured it might have been because he liked Zigzag's constant state of vigilance, and his reluctance to genuinely trust others- that was something Jack understood very well indeed.

A muffled thump off to his right; Jack turned and saw the new guy had tried to stand on his shovel's blade while pushing it into the ground and fallen over. Mr. Sir chuckled, turning away and heading back to his truck. "One down, ten million to go!"

Jack, already having broken open the hard crust of the dirt and well on his way to digging his first foot down, took a moment to point and laugh. "He's gotta be stupider than Zero!"

Armpit just shrugged. "Yeah, man, but at least Zero knows how to dig holes."

The next few hours passed without incident; almost nobody spoke because there was precious little to say. Jack and his D Tent boys dug steadily, Jack now and then speaking words of encouragement; for some reason, it meant something to him that D Tent boys were some of the best diggers in Camp Green Lake. Even Zero, the dumbest of their lot- though that might be changing with the arrival of the new guy- was damn good with a shovel. They were some of the best in camp, D Tent, and for Jack that certainly fit well- he liked being part of anything that was the best, the elite. It fit his self-image perfectly.

Around 11:30- that's what Jack's watch said it was- conversation returned as the boys started looking forward to lunch time. Working steadily, tossing shovel-fulls of dirt over his shoulder, Jack grinned, looking around at Armpit, Zigzag, Magnet, and Squid, all of whom were working nearby. "You know what, guys? I think we've all been looking at this the wrong way."

Armpit scoffed, not even looking up from his work. "Oh, look out, dudes. Richie Rich's found another gold nugget of truth."

Ignoring him, Jack went on, "Well, look. Think about it; we got it made! We got nothing to worry about. No teachers, no school, no parents- no girls! Still, I guess I wouldn't mind gettin' a _little_ every now and then."

Zigzag laughed. "Yeah, like you ever got any."

"Only your mom!" Jack shot right back, enjoying the banter.

Magnet chuckled. "Man, Jack's mom's been with so many dudes, it's a wonder he's white!"

Jack looked over at Magnet, carefully forming a look of curiosity on his face. "Magnet, ain't you Mexican?"

Magnet frowned, slightly puzzled. "Yeah. What about it?"

"Then why ain't you loud and stealin' my shit?"

Jack ducked suddenly, laughing as Magnet slung shovel-fulls of dirt at him.

By this time, though, the open space in the middle of all the D Tent boys' holes had become piled high with dirt, and the careless tosses of the others were landing a lot of it in Stanley's hole. He called over to the others as one toss landed what was essentially a whole load of dirt right in his own hole.

"Hey, can you guys be careful? Some of your dirt's getting in my hole-"

"Shut up, man!"

"Yeah, _shut up_, Stanley!"

"The _Fourth_!"

Surprised by the barrage of curses, Stanley decided it would just be best to go back to his work. He could toss the extra dirt out easily enough. It was better than irritating the rest of the boys in his tent.

Lunch didn't take long; none too keen to sit out on the sun-baked ground in the middle of the day, the boys hurried through their sandwiches, refilled their canteens from the truck, and returned to digging their holes. Stanley returned to his just as Jack was approaching it, unzipping his fly.

"Uh, that's my hole," Stanley said hesitantly. He wasn't looking for a fight today, or anytime soon for that matter. But he was none too eager to see Jack do what he was clearly planning on doing.

"So it is," Jack said, nodding.

"Um, not to be rude or anything, but I've still got a hole full of dirt, and-"

"I don't care if this hole is full of Chanel Number Five," Jack said, still matter-of-fact. "I'm not walking all the way back behind me to one of these empty holes; not for my noontime glory."

Finally, Stanley walked away and turned back a few feet later, trying to conceal his impatience.

"I'm waiting!" Jack announced in a singsong voice.

Grumbling, Stanley turned around.

"Say _somethin_'," Jack started to sing, "Cause you're drivin' me _crazy_! Say _somethin_'- baby, don't be so shy!"

On Jack went; as much as he hated to admit it, and as annoyed as he already was at the blonde's arrogance, Stanley couldn't help but be impressed.

Richie Rich could sing.

A minute or so later, he strutted on over to Stanley, who was still faced the other way, in a sense grateful for the extra delay before returning to wearing out every muscle in his back and arms. Smiling, Jack said, "Let you a little present in there, Stanley. Not too hard, not too soft…. Ah. Perfect."

When Stanley got back to his hole, he wanted to smack the blonde with his shovel. But in a sense, he couldn't help but admire the lanky boy's work.

How in the heck had he left that right there, dead-center in the middle of Stanley's hole?

It was dark by the time Stanley returned from the vast, seemingly-infinite moonscape of holes, his first one dug at last. Nobody had bothered to stay out there with him; it wasn't like any of the other campers much cared when Stanley's hole was finished. After struggling out and dragging his shovel- as well as his feet- back to camp, Stanley was glad for the opportunity to finally take a shower. As he approached the camp, Stanley could have sworn he heard Jack- singing that song again in the shower until Mr. Sir hollered at him to shut up and go to bed.

It wasn't any song Stanley had ever heard of, though; distantly, he wondered if the blonde wasn't writing one himself.

Jack, however, was for some reason still out when Stanley was returning from the showers. Abruptly, Mr. Sir stopped Stanley, his revolver out and the hammer thumbed back- but his target was the lizard. The yellow-spotted lizard. Clinging to a storage shed nearby, it hissed threateningly as Mr. Sir squinted, trying to line up a shot.

Two things happened very fast. First, the lizard on the shed wall pushed off, catapulting towards Stanley. Mr. Sir caught it with a slug in midflight, literally blowing its head off. A second lizard came charging out of the dark between two tents, standing up on its hind legs and fanning out a webbed flap of skin ringing the back of its neck as it hissed. Mr. Sir spun to face the new threat, fired and missed. Too frozen in fear to move, Stanley just inched backwards slowly as the greenish-tan lizard moved in for the attack, fearing Mr. Sir's next shot would come too late.

"Get down, stupid!"

Stanley whirled, stunned- that voice hadn't belonged to Mr. Sir.

Suddenly, a blur of orange shot in front of him, the lanky figure going into a slide, feet-first, just like he was coming in on home plate. With one arm, he threw Stanley down and out of the way, then braced his fall. And in the same instant as he struck the ground, the boy lashed out with an expertly-aimed kick and sent the yellow-spotted lizard- now just a foot or two away- sailing off towards a tent where it struck with a dull whack! and thumped to the ground. It hissed again, now truly pissed, but Mr. Sir hurried forward and shot it about the middle.

For a few moments, the camp was silent. Nobody moved.

"Get your stuff, fellas," Mr. Sir said, his eyes scanning the shadows- and the light- with equal vigilance. "Get yourselves a good night's sleep."

Stanley and Jack both retrieved their canteens- about all the 'stuff' either of them carried- and raced off towards D Tent, Stanley squeaking a fearful "My God!" as he backed away and bolted.

Finally, as they closed in on their tent, Stanley calmed down enough to realise what Jack had just done. He turned, grateful and amazed, and started trying to thank the blonde kid for his help. Jack would have none of it. He just rebuffed Stanley's efforts to thank him, and pretty quickly started to get angry. Stanley gave up finally, but insisted on saying thank you, regardless.

Nearing the tent, Jack shook his head and sighed, tired and irritated- he had no idea why he'd just put himself at risk like that just now. It was confusing, and made him feel like a fool. But finally, Jack just grunted and muttered, "Yeah, whatever, man. You're welcome."


	6. Chapter 6- L'Homme des Cavernes

**Chapter VI- L'Homme des Cavernes**

* * *

**A/N: Means "Caveman" in French**

* * *

Stanley's second day at Camp Green Lake went mostly without incident. Jack and the others were already starting to get used to his presence- though that mostly just meant they ignored him. Around noon, though, when Mr. Pendanski drove out in the water truck- which, Jack remembered with a smile, he'd stolen the better part of a year ago- Stanley approached Mr. Pendanski, claiming he'd found something interesting.

Nearby, Jack stopped and turned, watching with sudden interest. His eyes narrowed dangerously. In an instant, he was standing beside Mr. Pendanski, staring between the older man and Stanley. Zigzag, with his frazzled mess of hair, Armpit and the others were soon circled around.

"Oh, that's interesting," Dr. Pendanski said, holding up the chunk of rock.

"So, do I get the rest of the day off?" the new boy asked, the hope plain on his face. "Mr. Sir said if I find something interesting, I get the rest of the day off."

But Dr. Pendanski's interest in whatever the item was vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He handed the flat rock back to the new kid. "Stanley," he said flatly, "The Warden isn't interested in fossils."

As Dr. Pendanski turned away and returned to the business of filling canteens, the boys from D Tent clustered around. The rock was snatched out of Stanley's hands. "Lemme see that," Squid said.

"What the…?" Zigzag said, staring down at it.

Armpit chuckled. "It's a fossil! See?" He pointed at a shape on the rock; the outline of a long-dead fish. "Look at the _little fishy_!" The other boys laughed, and Jack walked back towards D Tent's circle of holes for the day. The rest of the boys followed, and as they walked away, Armpit said, "It looked just like those cave pictures, you know? Cavemen _like_ drawing little fishies."

Zigzag laughed. "Tell you what, man, I think Stanley _belongs_ in a cave."

Jack nodded as if that was obvious. "I told you he was a Neanderthal from the first time I saw 'im."

Thirty minutes later, a shadow fell over Stanley as he worked on his hole- he was now perhaps five feet down and a similar length across. Looking up, he saw Jack crouched at the hole's edge, a towel wrapped around his head, hanging down over his neck to shield it from the sun. He had a distinctly sour look on his face.

"That was some sorry shit you pulled."

Squinting as he looked up- the sun was shining down right overhead- Stanley asked, "I'm sorry?"

Jack just went on like he hadn't heard. "Look. If you find anything- and I don't mean stupid fossils- you give it to me. Understand? I've been here for over six _months_ and never found anything. _No one_ has! Why should you get a day off when you just got here?"

The blonde paused, giving Stanley time to think it over. "You know what I'm sayin'. It's only fair, right?"

Stanley was looking down at the ground; it didn't look like he quite agreed. Jack thumped him on the chest. "_Right_?"

Finally, the new guy nodded. "Yeah, sure."

The blonde boy smiled as if he'd been expecting Stanley to say that all along. "That's what I call an informed decision, dog. Good deal."

Then he got up and walked away, returning to digging his own hole. He was done two hours later; to everyone's surprise, Stanley was done half an hour after that, about the same time as everybody else.

For some reason or another, it had been a good day for D Tent- they were among the first to return from the dry bed of the lake. By three that afternoon, Stanley had joined the others- over two dozen boys, most not from D Tent- in the Wreck Room. There were a lot of broken things there; a pool table with most of its sticks snapped in half and some of the balls missing; a television that only picked up a channel or two veiled in green and the rest smothered in varying degrees of static. There was a radio, but it never seemed to pick up any channels anybody wanted.

Stanley made his way across the room, looking around and watching a few boys work with an improvised set of weights. Nearby, some of the others from D Tent were clustered around the television.

"Zigzag," Armpit grouched, "you drivin' me crazy, man.

"Oh, baby!" Jack crooned, sprawled across the couch across from the TV. "You're just drivin' me wild!"

Armpit groaned. "Aw, no, shut yo' ass up, Richie, I ain't in the mood for your pop-star music shit."

"Dude," Jack laughed, "Once I'm outta here, I'm gonna be sellin' those CD's and getting more than all a' you guys combined!"

"Sure," Magnet said from another couch, close by. "And piggies are gonna get some wings!"

Zigzag, seeing Armpit distracted, returned to fiddling with the knobs on the old TV set. The TV seemed to be showing a horse race, but a shootout in some Oklahoma bar kept trying to invade the screen.

"Hey," Armpit exclaimed, "quit messin' with my dials, man!"

Zigzag just pushed Armpit out of the way. "I got 'em where I want 'em."

Suddenly, Armpit thumped the TV on its top as the cowboys began to shove the horse race off-screen completely. The screen then went to static.

"Great!" Zigzag grumbled, "You friggin' broke it."

Watching this, as he approached, Stanley wasn't watching the progress of a game at the nearby pool table. One kid tripped as he moved around to take a shot, stumbling into Stanley and knocking him over. Stanley, in turn, landed on an armchair that was unfortunately already occupied.

"Hey, watch it!" the tall, muscular Lump sitting in it said, throwing Stanley back on his feet.

"You watch it," Stanley said, a perfect imitation of how nonchalant Jack often liked to be.

Stanley started to turn away, but the Lump in the chair kicked him hard, knocking him over. "What'd you say to me?"

Zigzag glanced over; some of the other D Tent boys too. Jack held up a hand.

Getting up, Stanley said, "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to hit you," and suddenly dove straight at the Lump in the armchair. A fight broke out instantly, and everyone in the Wreck Room rushed over. Jack and Zigzag pushed into the middle of it, separating the two.

"Cut it out, you guys!" Jack said loudly. "Cut it out! We start a fight here, the Warden'll come down hard on all of us."

The Lump glared across the divide at Stanley, who now seemed a little surprised he'd even tried to take on somebody that much bigger than him. "Just keep that punk away from me."

A cold look suddenly passed over Jack's face, and he said quietly, "You F Tent boys need us to show you how to _pee_. Who says you can fuckin' call one of _my_ boys a punk?"

The Lump from F charged forward then, and a brawl nearly exploded in the Wreck Room as D and F Tents rushed each other. Cooler heads from both sides fought in to separate them, and Jack found himself getting hauled out of the thick of it just as the tall boy from F clocked him good in the jaw.

"Enough, enough!" Armpit raised his voice, shouting over the noise quite easily. "Just go back to your games, dudes. No point wastin' time on this."

Finally, the combatants separated and went back to what they'd been doing, the D and F Tent boys tossing each other dark looks for a bit.

Over next to the pool table, Jack looked up at who'd dragged him away. Stanley? That was odd. Shaking the boy off, he hurried over and joined the other D Tent boys huddled around the second pool table in the corner.

"Hey, dudes," Magnet said solemnly, "Nobody messes with the Caveman. _Nobody_."

Zigzag nodded affirmatively. "Just what I been sayin', man."

Jack looked around at the others, his eyes alight. "Man, did you _see_ the Caveman back there? Just waded into the shit like it was nothing."

"No, no," Stanley said, "I don't mess with _anybody_!"

A whistle blew outside; time for dinner roll-call.

As everyone started to head out of the Wreck Room, Zigzag thumped him on the chest. "Hey. You comin', Caveman?"

"Come on, Caveman."

Jack gave him a whack on the shoulder. "Let's go, Caveman."

Staring after them, Stanley asked uncertainly, "Wh-Caveman?" He spotted Zero nearby- Zero, who had quietly set down a pool ball he'd picked up just a minute ago, watching the boy fighting Stanley with hard eyes.

"Am I the Caveman?" Stanley asked, uncertainly.

Zero just shrugged. "It's better than Barf Bag."

Stanley's new status as the "Caveman" became obvious the next day, when the truck arrived for the lunchtime break, and the refilling of the canteens. Jack took hold of Zero as he started to get in line behind Stanley, shoving him back. "You go ahead of him now, Caveman," Jack said, and headed up to be first in line. Just like he'd been for over a month.

That night, Mr. Pendanski held a pep-talk session with the D Tent boys.

"What about you, Jose?" he asked, looking at Magnet. "What do you like?"

"I like animals," Magnet said, nodding.

"Man," Armpit grinned, "that's what got Magnet sent here in the first place."

Looking almost mournful, Magnet said, "It's criminal how they keep 'em locked up in cages."

Wagging a finger, Mr. Pendanski said, "No, Jose- what _you_ did was criminal."

"No, no- tell 'em, Magnet," Squid said, looking at the others as he talked. "They wanted a thousand bucks for just _one puppy_."

"What?" Jack said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Magnet just sighed. "I'd have made it out, too. If my pocket hadn't started barking!"

The boys broke up in laughter, and even Zero showed a small smile.

"I like sex," Jack said thoughtfully, though Dr. Pendanski hadn't asked him what he liked.

"Yeah," Zigzag said, grinning as he thought of the story. He looked at Stanley. "Man, didn't you hear? This guy," he said, pointing at Jack, "Got caught by his girlfriend's dad. Just _after_ he'd fucked her. He ran for it, stole the pizza boy's car as he showed up down the street, then did 85 and wrecked it on the highway."

The other boys grinned, impressed still at Jack's bravado. It had taken a lot of convincing, of course, for them to even believe it- but with Jack, some incredibly over-the-top stories had a way of turning out to be true. Or at least, he could make up a lot of details to back them up.

"Actually," Jack grinned, "Eighty-five is the highest number the speedo _had_."

"What?" Magnet asked, incredulous. "_Seriously_?"

Jack nodded. "Fuckin' eighties cars, man. Don't know _what_ they were thinkin'."

"Hey Richie," Squid said, "If you hadn't been, uh, _done_, when your girl's dad caught you, what wouldja have said?"

Jack thought about that for a moment. "Can you turn the light off, sir? I'm not done yet!"

The boys exploded into laughter while Dr. Pendanski looked on disapprovingly.

"You boys," Mr. Pendanski said, "get one life. And so far, you've done a pretty good job of screwing it up."

Into the silence, the camp counselor looked straight at Stanley. "So! You're 'Caveman', now. Bigshot. Got a nickname! Well, let me tell you something, _Caveman_. You're here because of just _one_ person. You know who that is?"

"Yeah," Stanley nodded, a smile starting to creep onto his face. "My no-good, dirty-rotten, pig-stealing great-great-grandfather, that's who it is!"

The boys broke up into laughter again; Jack smiled and shook his head. In spite of himself, he found he somewhat liked the Caveman. He was fitting in a bit better than Jack had expected.

But Mr. Pendanski, as usual, did not share in the group's amusement. He held up a finger again, pointing solemnly. "No, _you_ screwed your life up, Stanley Yelnats- and it's up to you to fix it. It's not gonna be easy, but you'd be surprised what you can do once you set your mind to it."

He paused, looking over at the quietest of D Tent's campers. "Even Zero isn't _completely_ worthless."

"What about _you_, Zero?" Pendanski asked. "What do _you_ like to do?"

Zero said nothing.

"You just won't talk with me, will you?" Mr. Pendanski asked.

"Man, he only talks to Caveman, you know?" Armpit said.

A pause; the mess hall was silent. "You think you're _better_ than all this?" Mr. Pendanski asked, a hint of a sneer creeping into his voice. "Now, how could you think that when even _Jack_ here doesn't?"

The camp counselor couldn't see it- in fact, the only person who did see was Stanley, who happened to glance at Jack as the blonde boy glared at Mr. Pendanski.

Zero's eyes flicked towards Stanley briefly, and Stanley gave a slight nod.

"I like digging holes," Zero said, his voice flat.

Mr. Pendanski gave a slight smile. "Then you're in the right place, buddy boy."


	7. Chapter 7- Day Number Five

**Chapter VII- Day Number Five**

* * *

Stanley Yelnats' fifth day at Camp Green Lake passed- of all things- uneventfully. He got up at 0600 like he always did; he made sure not to take the shortest shovel, and Jack took it, as he always did. They went out on the lakebed, dug their holes, bitched about the heat and came back. Stanley even finished right about the same time as the others, which he didn't mind a bit. A couple of times that day, Stanley could have sworn he saw Jack watching him; never outright staring, but once in a while gazing his way with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful, shrewd look on his face.

Jack was on a good mood that day; for what it was worth, he clearly liked to relax whenever possible and was actually quite good at doing it. Coming out of the Wreck Room with the other D Tent boys as Stanley was coming around a corner, Jack gave a whoop and chased the others hurriedly off the porch. He then held up one hand, shaping it as if he was holding a microphone, and started singing to Stanley as he approached the porch. Stanley was again impressed, but right away had a hard time keeping a straight face; Jack was every inch acting like he was singing to a pretty girl.

"I see you walk by, extra fly; baby, where you goin', can I roll?" Jack called from the porch. The other D Tent boys stood aside as Jack hopped down from the porch and approached Stanley, singing still, "Livin' beach life, feelin' right, you're the hottest, everybody knows! Oh, oh!"

Stanley grinned and clapped his hands, going along and acting as if he was just enthralled with the performance. If this was how Jack liked to be nice to people around here, Stanley was more than okay with going along with it. It was better than the alternative. And besides; Stanley was more and more coming to notice how gifted Jack was when it came to his voice. His words were power in the other campers' ears; he could raise his voice and carry a tune beautifully. And he had to have some talent with poetry, too- no one had yet indicated that these lyrics were anything but Jack's own.

Moving around Stanley and continuing to mock-serenade him, Jack sang, "Burnin' up, burnin' up, show 'em what you got; yeah you got it, baby, let it show- uh, huh!" Gradually picking up the pace, slowly building towards a crescendo- no doubt that chorus Stanley had heard once or twice before- Jack sang, "Let's turn it up, turn it up- let me know what's up!" Then he crooned, "Don't just stand there, Stan, I gotta knoooo-ooh, oh!"

Then Armpit jumped in between them, raising his arms and spinning around. "Ima ballerina!" he cried, and instantly everybody was backing away, fanning the scent with their hands. Jack's face coloured furiously and he stumbled back toward the Wreck Room in a hurry, leaning against the railing as he coughed and gagged. Stanley backed off and waved his cap furiously, laughing so hard at Jack's furious spitting and swearing he could hardly stand. The other boys of D Tent thought it was plenty funny, too, and in any case Jack was too busy getting the awful smell of Armpit's namesake out of his nose and out of his mind.

After perhaps a full minute, Jack seemed to recover the strength to stand on his own again, and glared accusingly at Armpit. "I was getting to the cool part, man! The real cool part!" he complained, but Armpit just shook his head. "You got yourself singin' love songs to _boys_, man; you been here too long, Richie."

He paused.

"Besides," Armpit said with mock innocence, "Ain't I _supposed_ to dance when there' singin'?"

"Well, no, not _you_," Jack said, glaring, but that just set the D Tent boys off again. Finally, Jack gave up being mad and waved them off. "Go on," Jack yelled with mock anger, "Get outta here! Somebody make sure he takes his shower; it's that time of the year again!"

Armpit took off running with surprising speed as Magnet and Squid gave chase; Jack just shrugged and chuckled, throwing a bony arm around Stanley's shoulders as he and Zigzag closed in on Stanley's left and right.

"So!" Jack said, halfway steering Stanley along as he walked, "Got the little retard to talk, huh?" Briefly Stanley had to think about that; then he realised Jack meant Zero. Before Stanley could say anything, Zigzag leaned in from the right, his eyes alive and intent as always. "Listen, it's cool if that's what you want. But Richie's the guy you wanna talk to. Pays to know him, be on his side."

Jack nodded at that, continuing to speak to Stanley in that friendly, magnanimous way. "See, Caveman, there's some people you wanna be friends with; if you're smart. Don't wanna go making friends with the wrong sort, the ones who aren't going anywhere."

Flashing a brilliant smile, Jack looked at Stanley and tapped his forehead. "You gotta do the smart thing, Caveman."

Stopping, Jack held out a hand. "I can help you there."

Stanley hesitated, realizing the lanky blonde had again been referring to Zero once or twice. What was strangest about that was how matter-of-fact Jack was; he was so used to being dismissive of Zero at best and outright abusive and bullying at worst, it was like Jack didn't even notice he was doing it anymore.

The bony-shouldered, tall blonde sensed Stanley's hesitation; his blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and his eyebrows hinted at closing into a frown.

The kid now known as "Caveman" considered turning away from Jack, rejecting whatever it was that Richie Rich was offering. But Stanley didn't want to go making enemies at Camp Green Lake; he had enough to worry about without one of the more influential boys- it certainly seemed Jack could be called that- hating him.

Sensing both Jack and Zigzag watching him intently, Stanley finally gave a mental shrug; he could do both things. He could talk to Zero if he wanted; Jack cared little about that in any case. And Stanley didn't mind the idea of having one of the most senior boys here- Jack had a full six months under him- be on his side, willing to show him the ropes now like Stanley had hoped for in the first place.

They shook hands, and Jack smiled.

"Come on," he said, "you're showerin' with me and my man Zigzag tonight."

Catching the look on Stanley's face, Jack just laughed. "We don't have to kiss unless you wanna, Caveman," and Zigzag chuckled.

The three trooped into D Tent as the sun started to set, each getting a towel and leaving his orange coveralls, going in their uniform-issue black shorts- mockingly called "swimsuits" by many sarcastic campers. They headed back out chatting amiably, not much noticing the small, curly-haired boy sitting alone on his bed in the corner.

As they walked to the showers, Jack laughed as he glanced at Stanley. "You're not used to goin' around with your shirt off, are you?" Stanley blushed a little, which only made Jack chuckle a bit more. "Come on, man," Jack said encouragingly, "Try and get used to it. Babes love us guys with our shirts off; makes 'em wanna, you know, give it up."

They reached the showers, and Jack generously showed Stanley a trick he'd figured out a couple of months ago, one that- if used only once in a while- could let a camper get away with as much as an extra thirty seconds of shower time. It had mostly to do with fiddling around with the one knob and part of one of the pipes, but Jack seemed confident it would work.

Taking stalls beside each other- they only came up to nearing shoulder height on most of the boys anyway- Jack and Zigzag stripped, laughing again at how uncomfortable the whole thing seemed to make Stanley feel. No one had commented, but it was easy to notice how Stanley had so far only gone to the showers when nobody else was there.

Once the showers were on, Jack started talking, half just thinking out loud. "Look, dog," Jack said as he ran his hands through his blonde hair, "all I'm saying is, a fuck is a fuck. Laid is laid. You know? Me, I could care less if I boned Zigzag's sister, or Zigzag."

Zigzag blushed furiously, and Stanley laughed. "Dude," he said, "I didn't know you were the _type_, Richie!"

Jack just shrugged, his bony shoulders going up and down in one simple movement. "Just hear me, dude. You gotta see my point."

Fighting a grim battle with his frazzled, messy sandy-blonde hair, Zigzag drawled, "Yeah, I see your point, all right. I need to never, _ever_ drop the soap again when Richie Rich is anywhere near my behind."

Stanley laughed again, and even Jack did after a moment. "Man, whatever. I know I'm right." Pausing, he added wistfully, "Greatness is so rarely appreciated in its own time."

Taking the chance to join in the conversation- glad, in a way, to be invited into one with someone as important as Richie- Stanley interjected, "Speaking of greatness, let's hear that chorus now, Richie!"

Jack laughed, still tending to his once-high-maintenance hair. He didn't have the fine shampoos and conditioners he should have, but he could still make the effort. Throwing his head back, Jack sang, "Say _somethin'_! 'Cause you're drivin' me crazy! Say _somethin'_, cause you're drivin' me wild! Say _somethin'_! The way you're workin' it, baby- like, oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah, yeah- oh, _yeah_!"

A chorus of clapping and cheering sounded from some of the nearby tents, and from a group of boys just leaving the Wreck Room. "Yeah, all right!" somebody called, "It's Richie Rich, man! Next Michael Jackson or whatever!"

"Naw," a voice called back, "Jackson had to _turn_ white! Richie's already as white as a vanilla wafer!"

"Screw you guys!" Jack hollered, clearly enjoying the attention. "I'm gonna fuck your sisters!"

"Joke's on _you_, motherfucker!" the second voice shouted right back. "I don't _got_ no sister!"

"You boys shut up!" Mr. Sir hollered from his cabin suddenly, irritable and displeased at the noise. "I swear, if you boys got this much extra energy diggin' one hole a day, we can just dig _two_!"

Abruptly, aside from the sound of the rushing water, the camp was silent.

"There we go!" Mr. Sir called, sounding properly satisfied. "I _knew_ you boys could do it." The screen door on his cabin banged as he went back inside.

Stanley glanced over at Jack, who was busy admiring himself as the water ran over his skin; the cold didn't seem to bother him at all. "I'm gonna be famous someday," Jack said as he glanced up at the sunset, and Stanley suddenly found himself glancing at Jack again. The blonde had done his best to make it a simple, off-hand remark, but something about it made Stanley think twice.

Jack sounded like he'd meant it; perhaps a little singing and writing a line or two for a song had been where it had started, but now it seemed like the blonde really believed the life of a teenage celebrity was in his future. His voice- which even Stanley could hardly deny was good- had the potential to carry him there; that much was all but certain. Jack certainly liked hearing the sound of his own voice- it was, apparently, one of the only things he did genuinely like. Beneath his showy, movie-star exterior, Jack struck Stanley as somebody who was by nature- or perhaps by long-standing habit- wary and distrustful of others. Distrustful, arrogant...

And maybe a little bit scared. Not of other people, or of danger- fear and Jack were clearly not well-acquainted. No, it wasn't people themselves Jack was scared of.

It was trusting them.


	8. Chapter 8- Something Interesting

**Chapter VIII- Something Interesting**

* * *

The next day out on the lake introduced Stanley to some of the most punishing, brutal heat he'd ever encountered. There was no shade, no breeze, not a cloud in the sky and no water, save for what the boys had in their canteens.

The heat started slow that morning- later, it seemed like it had been sneaking up on them, making it appear as if the heat would be no worse than usual. Then, as the sun climbed into the sky, so did the temperature- nobody in D Tent knew what the exact number was, and nobody wanted to know. It was hot; damn hot. That was all that mattered.

Even the customary shoot-the-shit game was halted once the heat was on in full; Jack and his crew just dug and tossed, dug and tossed. They focused only on getting the holes dug; talking would only distract them and perhaps slow the work down. What few attempts at conversation occurred were quickly silenced by Jack, and none of them would likely have lasted long anyway. The heat was sapping everybody's morale- well, everybody but Mr. Sir. He lounged about near the water truck as noon closed in, munching on his sunflower seeds as always. Under his wide-brimmed hat, he took a drink of a Coke now and then, remarking to anybody he thought was listening that it still held some of the cool from the icy refrigerator in his office.

Pausing in the midst of his work, Zigzag looked up at the sky, shielding his eyes against the sun. After a moment, he blinked in disbelief, then called over to Jack, whose hole was a few feet away.

"_Regardez_," Zigzag drawled in passable French, "_Un nuage_!"

"_Quoi_?" Jack responded, sweating hard with his face caked with dust.

"_Regardez_!" Zigzag repeated, pointing up. Jack finally glanced upward and stared.

Sure enough, there was a little cotton-ball puff of a white cloud in the sky.

"_Mon Dieu_!" Jack exclaimed. "_Un nuage_!"

Neither Stanley nor most of the other boys could follow much of what was being said; Jack's interest in teaching another his family's favourite second language had pretty much stopped with Zigzag, the taller and stronger boy who- for his part- would have gladly dealt with anyone who tried to harm Richie Rich.

Zigzag wasn't entirely sure why he liked the lanky blonde; he just knew the two had a mutual respect and even liking for each other. It was more than he'd hoped for in a place as desolate as this; never had Zigzag expected he'd be coming here and making any friends. But Jack had offered Zigzag his friendship, and even taken extra time at the end of many long, hot days to teach the taller boy some of the French he knew. Zigzag knew he had to appreciate that- even if Richie Rich wasn't the nicest or most tactful of the campers at Green Lake.

But, regardless of what language was being spoken, the other D Tent boys noticed how Zigzag and Richie were looking up, pointing and chattering about something interesting up above them.

"_Il va peut-être se mettre devant le soleil_," Zigzag said, leaning back and drawling in passable Texas French.

"_Si seulement, petit nuage_," Jack answered, looking up at the cotton ball in the sky.

Looking up and leaning on his shovel, Magnet gazed wistfully at the cloud. "Come on, little cloud. You can do it."

Armpit gazed up at the cloud, a hopeful look on his face. "Please," he called as if pleading to it, "That's all I'm askin' for, is a _little_ shade."

Lifting a big, football-sized rock out of his hole and setting it in the central pile of dirt, Stanley said matter-of-factly, "Warden owns the shade, man."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Squid said. "Maybe we'll get some clouds."

"And it will rain for forty days and forty nights," Zigzag added.

Joining in, Armpit added, "Yeah, and we'll have to build an ark out of the Warden's cabin; get two of each animal."

Jack chuckled, his smile brilliant even in the heat- and even with his face coated with dust. "Yeah! Two scorpions, two rattlesnakes, two yellow-spotted lizards."

Stanley had lost interest in the conversation; bending down to take another dig at his hole, he'd noticed something gleaming dully at the surface of the dirt. Magnet looked over, noticing that Stanley was looking curiously at something held up in his hand. "Hey," Magnet called, "What you got there, Caveman?"

Stanley shrugged, partly out of a hope that Magnet would lose interest and go back to his own work. But instead, Magnet set down his shovel and trotted over, skirting the other holes as he came. He crouched beside Stanley at the hole's edge, looking down.

"What's that?" Magnet asked, looking at the round, tube-like object. It was brass in colour, looking somewhat like an old rifle cartridge.

"Hey, Richie!" Stanley called after a moment. "I think I might've found something."

Jack's head snapped up. He said nothing but got up, pulling himself out of his hole and walking over to Stanley. Seeing whatever it was had gained Jack's interest, the other D Tent boys- except Zero- also got up and walked over. Zero, on the other hand, stayed in his hole- but was looking over in the others' direction, a curious, intent look on his face much like Jack.

Crouching beside Stanley's hole, Jack eyed him intently. "What's this you found, Caveman?"

Stanley held it up, and Jack promptly snatched it away. He turned it over in his hands. "Looks like an old shotgun shell," Jack said after a moment. He handed it over to Squid.

"Naw," Squid said after a few moments, "It ain't a shotgun shell, it's too skinny."

Zigzag shook his head as he glanced at it also. "It ain't a shotgun shell," he agreed.

Noticing a heart-shaped engraving on one side of the brass tube, Stanley pointed at it. "See that? Looks like initials; K.B."

"K.B.?" Jack said, frowning. "I don't know no K.B."

"Oh, I know who that is," Zigzag said, taking the brass tube and looking at it. "That's Keith Beringer."

"Man, who's that?" Armpit said, clearly skeptical.

"He was in my math class."

Magnet laughed. "Yeah, definitely, Zigzag. Must belong to him, huh?"

Jack snatched it back from Zigzag, looking it over one more time as he stood up. "I'm gonna go show it to Mom," he said after a moment, shrugging. "Maybe I'll get the rest of the day off."

Zigzag nodded silently, as if that went without saying; he got up and followed Jack as he started to head over towards Mr. Pendanski, who had swapped posts with Mr. Sir as lunchtime neared.

But Stanley jumped up out of his hole with surprising speed, objecting as he went. "Rest of the day off?" He repeated, incredulous. "Your hole's already dug! I'm-I'm not even close! I'm gonna be out here all day!"

Jack had turned as Stanley talked and now faced him, his eyes cold and his voice no warmer. "Ask me if I give a fuck."

A long, tense few moments passed. Jack stood barely a foot or two from Stanley; the lanky blonde was calm, but his very posture was a challenge. Zigzag and Squid flanked his left and right; as always, Richie Rich was rarely ever alone. Armpit stood nearby, stopped halfway back to his own hole, while Magnet watched from Stanley's right.

Stanley considered his options, none of them all that good. If he tried to keep the brass tube, Jack would get angry. If he called over to Mr. Pendanski right now and turned it in himself, Jack would be furious. Then there was what Richie clearly wanted- hand over the brass tube and let him take credit for it, denying Stanley any chance for a day off in the near future. Finally, Stanley decided to commit the place he'd found the brass tube to memory; this was the first object of any interest he- or likely anyone else- had ever found. Who knew? This one spot might be of some interest. Maybe Stanley would have time to check it out sometime later; after all, he was scheduled to be at Camp Green Lake for a year and a half- he was barely a week into that. Plenty of time, certainly. There was no shortage of _that_ around here.

"So…" Stanley said, thinking, then got an idea. "Why don't you turn it in tomorrow morning? That way you'd get the whole _day_ off."

Squid nodded, visibly impressed, and Zigzag clearly thought the idea a good one, too. Both of them looked at Jack.

For just a moment, the blonde's face stayed impassive, giving away nothing. Then he smiled. "That's good thinking, Caveman," Jack said, nodding. "I like that." He got up and headed back to his own hole, dropping the brass tube into one of his cargo pockets and zipping it up.

Seeing the tension had dissipated, the other boys headed back to their holes. "Pretty smart, Caveman, pretty smart," Squid added before turning away.

Jack must have been pleased with what came his way that afternoon; in fact, he seemed very pleased. As the afternoon dragged on, Jack stopped by Stanley's hole as he prepared to head home for the day. Zigzag and Squid soon joined him, having finished somewhat ahead of time today as well.

The bony-shouldered blonde crouched next to Stanley's hole, picking up his canteen. He unscrewed the lid on his and Stanley's canteens, then after a moment filled Stanley's up; it had been down to about half, lunch having been hours ago.

Jack smirked at the look of surprise on Stanley's face, giving him a thump on the chest as he stood up and walked away.

Later that night, Jack- freshly showered and feeling good about the next day- stretched out on his bed at the far end of the tent, stripped down to his shorts and staring up at the canvas ceiling, his pale hands folded behind his head. "What the hell you think we're looking for out here, anyway?" Jack said, his voice both peevish and speculative. He was annoyed at being out here after all this time; irritated he hadn't yet found any reason for the work he was doing or gotten a chance to escape. Well, escape and stay escaped, anyway.

"Man, we ain't lookin' for nothin'," Squid said, his Deep South drawl even heavier than Zigzag's. "We're just diggin' holes, Richie."

"It's the lizards we're workin' for, man," Armpit declared with great certainty. "We're buildin' their houses. I mean, this other day, I saw ten of 'em in one hole."

"Zig?" Jack asked, casting a glance at his friend's cot. "Whadda you think?"

"I don't think we're diggin' to find anything," Zigzag replied. "We're doin' what Mr. Sir said; diggin' to build character." He chuckled, Jack and the others joining in as they heard the sarcasm in Zigzag's response.

"Well, how about it, Caveman?" Jack said.

Stanley thought about it for a moment; he wasn't sure what he thought about that. This was the end of his sixth day; how was he supposed to know why any of them were here- besides their collective debt to society- or what they were looking for?

Finally, realizing Jack really was expecting an answer, Stanley gave the best one he could come up with. It was based on a feeling, and a feeling only. But it was there, and had a curious certainty to it, like a floor in a room completely devoid of light. You couldn't see it, but knew it was there nonetheless.

"I think they got us looking for something," Stanley said, and Jack had to raise his voice to halt the chorus of scoffs and jeers that followed. Sitting up, Jack stared at the new boy, he of the brown eyes and the black, curly hair. "Well?" he demanded, putting on an air of impatience. "You think Zigzag's wrong? What're we lookin' for, Caveman? I've been here six months and haven't found a fuckin' thing! What're we looking for?"

Stanley just shrugged, uneasy but determined not to wilt in the face of Jack's apparent anger. It seemed to be a steady thing with Jack; he was tall, bony and handsome, but without the natural dignity and grace he clearly believed his family's money entitled him to. Jack was a good-looking boy with a show-stopper's smile; Stanley distantly observed that it was somehow easier- better- to have ugly enemies. And enemies were a thing the lanky blonde had to know all about; behind those pale blue eyes was a look of simmering emotion, constantly waiting for a chance to explode into anger.

"I just think we are," Stanley added. "I mean, why else would the Warden tell us to make sure to speak up if we find something?"

For a moment the tent was silent. Nobody moved. Zigzag's eyes darted between Stanley and Jack, Jack and Stanley. Finally, Jack smiled a little, nodding as if in thoughtful approval. "Maybe the Caveman's got a point, fellas. Maybe he does."

Lights out was just a few minutes later. As he started to drift off, Stanley was amused to hear Jack, still looking up at the tent's roof with his hands folded behind his head, whisper "What I wouldn't give for a good _fuck_ right now." Stanley, suddenly he was facing away from Richie Rich, stifled laughter that was fighting to get out. Stanley didn't know Richie well at all- in fact, only in passing even knew his first name was Jack- but that was hardly surprising after only a week. But even Stanley was already getting the distinct impression Richie's was quite a one-track mind sometimes.

In truth, though, Jack was only thinking about that for a short time that night. What he ended up thinking about most, right up to when he went to sleep, was the same thing he'd been talking with his D Tent boys about earlier. He didn't care to admit it, not just yet, but Jack was certain Stanley was right. The boys at Camp Green Lake could have just as easily been hammering out license plates or building fences. They could have been digging holes, and then filling them up again.

But no- they were digging out holes all over the lake, and after six months at Camp Green Lake, six months digging these stupid holes all over this dead lake, Jack was convinced there was more to this than simple manual labor. This wasn't just a camp showing a group of young boys the importance of paying their debt to society- and how to dig holes. Jack had quietly begun forming a theory that the camp was in fact a front for a deeper purpose; the boys themselves were the labor force, making the real point of the camp possible. The only "true purpose" of Camp Green Lake had to be searching. Somebody was looking for something, and if the vast sea of holes, dug for years and stretching out for miles, was any indication, they'd been looking a long time.

Jack kept turning the thoughts over and over in his head; he had questions with partial answers, and complete answers with no connected questions. It kept coming up, that one set of questions that, if answered in full, would pretty much take care of everything else.

Someone- perhaps the Warden- was searching for something. But who, and what?

And why?


	9. Chapter 9- The Warden

**Chapter IX- The Warden**

* * *

The morning of Stanley's seventh full day at Camp Green Lake started like most any other; cool through to dawn, it began warming steadily, promising to be the usual broiling, dry hot it always was. Unlike most days, however, Jack "Richie Rich" Merridew started the day with an extra spring in his step, trying to conceal his glee at the complete day off he was about to get.

Typical of his way of doing things, though, Jack chose to savor the moment- and savor it some more. He ended up taking until lunchtime; perhaps in part because he didn't want the timing of his 'finding' the brass tube to seem unusual. The holes were rarely dug to any real depth before 11 or 12 anyway, so it made sense.

Around noon, Mr. Pendanski began refilling the canteens; Jack took his place as first in line as always. "Here you are, Jack," Mr. Pendanski said, handing him the filled canteen; Jack nodded and moved away. He honestly could have given a damn what Mr. Pendanski called him, on today of all days. Jack or Richie, he'd be out of this damn field of holes and back at camp in minutes. Doing his best to remain inconspicuous, Jack headed back to his hole as the rest of the D Tent boys stepped up and had their canteens refilled.

As Armpit stepped up, Mr. Pendanski called out cheerfully, "Good morning, Theodore!"

"Man," Armpit complained immediately, "it's Armpit. I don't know no fool named Theodore, a'ight?"

Coming right back, Mr. Pendanski said dryly, "Well, I don't know no fool named Armpit." The canteen filled, he tossed it to a still-grumbling Armpit. "Here's your water, whoever you are."

"Hey, Mom!" Jack called, looking up from his hole. "I think I found somethin'!"

Abruptly, Mr. Pendanski halted filling the canteens. Setting the next one beside the truck, he strode quickly over and looked down at Jack, who was holding something up in his hand. He handed it to Mr. Pendanski. "It looks like a golden bullet, something like that. I get the day off now, right?"

Mr. Pendanski nodded, interest clear on his face. "You just might. We're gonna call the Warden."

Turning away, he took out his handheld radio. Pressing the transmit button and pausing for the momentary burst of static, Mr. Pendanski said as he looked at the bullet in one hand, "Hey, Lou- you better get down here. I think we've found something."

"We found something nice!" Jack called, almost in a singsong voice. Distantly, Jack started to wonder if that might not be a good line for a song. "Something Nice".

_You and me, girl, we found something nice…_

Mr. Pendanksi, quite unaware of Jack's aspirations of becoming a teenage celebrity, seemed to agree with the statement regardless. He pressed the Transmit button one more time.

"We've found something nice."

Before long, a woman's voice called back from the radio, "I'll be right there." The interest in her own voice was clear; for better or for worse, the de facto leader of D Tent had her attention.

Stanley, watching ten feet away from his own hole, noticed Jack turn a little pale as he watched a white '57 DeSoto, a big old Chrysler with a long, wide body and tall, swept-back tail fins, come gliding towards them through the shimmering waves of heat. Perhaps not quite aware anyone was watching, Jack touched a hand to the left side of his face, which still held three slash-mark scars from almost half a year ago. He'd experienced the negative side of being noticed by the Warden; yes, indeed.

"You got this, man," Zigzag called quietly from a neighboring hole, perhaps sensing Jack's anxiety. "You got this, Richie."

The white DeSoto, its driver navigating the gaps between the fields of holes quite effortlessly, came to a halt some thirty feet out. Perhaps, being a tad smarter than the men working for her, the Warden wasn't stupid enough to leave her car- or its keys- near a bunch of teenagers who would be all too ready to steal it, given a chance.

Stanley, out of all the D Tent boys, watched with particular interest as the DeSoto's big, heavy driver's door swung open; a pair of tanned brown leather boots hit the ground. A tall, slender woman in jeans, a blue shirt with little red flowers on it, and a tan cowboy hat stood up, eying the scene from behind a pair of reflective sunglasses.

Mr. Sir was riding in the passenger seat, and wordlessly followed the Warden as she walked over to Dr. Pendanski, who was standing beside Jack's hole. Mr. Pendanski handed her the brass tube, whatever it was, and she took it, staring down intently. For perhaps a full minute she was silent; nobody dared move or speak first. Finally, the Warden pocketed her sunglasses, gazing down at Jack.

"This where you found it?"

The lanky blonde nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

The Warden smiled.

"Mr. Pendanski," she announced, "Drive Richie Rich back to camp. Give him double shower tokens, and a snack. But first, fill everyone's canteen!"

"I already filled them," Mr. Pendanski replied.

Instantly, the warm smile and generous manner of the Warden vanished, replaced by a cold, irritated look. "Excuse me?"

"I had already filled them when you drove up in the car," Mr. Pendanski said again, smiling nervously.

The Warden took a few slow steps towards the camp counselor, replacing her sunglasses as she went. "Excuse me?" she said again, and Jack shivered involuntarily. Yeah, he remembered that too.

"Did I ask you when you last filled them?" the Warden said, her voice a clear indication that she did not by any stretch care about the canteens, period.

Mr. Pendanski tried again, his smile slipping away as he tried to backtrack. "No, but I had-"

"Excuse me." the Warden said, and Mr. Pendanski fell silent. It was clear that nobody would want to see what would happen if the Warden was forced to repeat herself a fourth time.

Nodding once she saw she had Mr. Pendanski's attention, the Warden walked back towards the D Tent boys' holes. "Now, these fine boys have been workin' hard. Don't you think it's possible that they've had a drink- since you filled their canteens?"

Reluctantly, Mr. Pendanski nodded. "It's possible."

The Warden gave him another cold stare; it fascinated Jack to no end how she didn't even need her eyes visible to intimidate. If anything, those reflective shades did the job better than direct eye contact; you couldn't see the eyes of the Warden… but you knew the Warden's eyes could see you.

"Oh, it's possible, is it?"

The Warden just stared at Mr. Pendanski for a moment, letting the words- and the sarcasm- sink in nicely. Then suddenly, without even turning her head, she raised her voice. "Caveman!" the Warden called, "Come over here a minute, please."

Stanley's eyes went wide at that; never having even seen the Warden in person before, it was incomprehensible to Stanley that she could already know his nickname. Thankfully, however, the rest of him had no difficulty knowing what to do. Stanley got up and hurried over to the Warden, his canteen hanging off his back from a sling.

"Now," the Warden said, "don't you think it's possible that you've had a drink… since he filled your canteen?"

Answering honestly, Stanley shook his head. "No, ma'am; I'm fine, I've got plenty."

"Excuse me?"

A long pause; Stanley slowly nodded. "I… I think I might've drank some, come to think of it."

The Warden smiled. "Thank you. May I have your canteen, please?"

Pulling the canvas strap over his shoulder, Stanly handed over his canteen. The Warden promptly stepped over to Mr. Pendanski, holding up the canteen and shaking it; water sloshed around, indicating a sizeable pocket of remaining air.

"Can you hear the empty spaces?" the Warden asked irritably, as if explaining something very simple to a person who was supposed to be smart, and should have known better.

"Yes," Mr. Pendanski said without looking at those blank reflective shades, "I can hear the empty spaces. I hear 'em just fine."

"Good," the Warden nodded, shoving the canteen into the camp counselor's hands. "Fill it. If that's too much trouble, you can grab a shovel and Caveman can fill the canteens. God knows he might just do it better."

"Squid, Armpit!" Mr. Sir suddenly shouted, "Get them shovels outta the truck!"

"Zero, take over digging Richie's hole! Caveman will assist you!"

Jack climbed into the truck, smirking not just because he was getting a ride back to camp- an unheard-of luxury at Camp Green Lake- but also because he'd stolen this truck just a few months ago. Maybe another chance would come before long- out here, with the boys' inability to run or escape a given, Jack's escape artist antics were quite easy to forget. Especially after what had happened after the first time…

The lanky blonde threw up a V-for-Victory sign as the truck started to move off, calling back with a grin, "Y'all be good now, you hear?"

"Get Tents C and F over here!" the Warden called, and Mr. Sir echoed the command. Looking around, the Warden smiled as she began to get a very good feeling about all this stupid, endless digging- she hadn't felt so sure, so close, in a long while.

As the water truck vanished into the shimmering waves of heat, trailing a cloud of dust behind it, the Warden held up the brass tube and kissed it. Today was a good day, indeed.


	10. Chapter 10- The Dig

**Chapter X- The Dig**

* * *

Richie Rich was sitting beside the Library, waiting patiently as the D Tent boys- some of the first in camp to return that day- inevitably showed up as the sun started to set, carrying their shovels. Jack had done just what he wanted with the afternoon- slept, drank a Coke and eaten potato chips for the first time in the better part of a year, and taken a nice long shower in the bargain. He'd even written a letter home, dedicating much of it- as he so often did- to his younger brother. Looking furtively around even though no one was present, Jack added a fossil- the one Stanley had found a few days ago, as a matter of fact- in the envelope, smiling as he thought of Michael's delighted squeal and the rather slobbery kiss on the cheek he'd have given Jack… except, Jack would not be there at home when the letter showed up. He'd still be here at camp, and was set to be for some time to come.

Michael was Jack's younger- much younger- brother, a full three years old to Jack's fifteen. Jack missed him so much it almost physically pained him at times; for that very reason almost nobody at Camp Green Lake even knew Michael Merridew existed. He was blonde like Jack, pale-skinned and blue-eyed like Jack, and even at three took a certain Jack-like delight in breaking the rules. His parents were clearly hoping Michael would grow up to be a little more responsible than their first son; Jack hoped he'd end up with a younger version of himself. Regardless of what would happen, given the passage of enough time, Jack knew he wanted to be there to see it. There were many times the lanky blonde was sure he didn't give an iron damn about himself. That might still have been true, even after all this time at camp- but Jack knew Michael was an exception. Jack had been crazy about his little brother from the day he'd first seen him.

Dressed in the cleaner of his two pairs of orange coveralls, Jack stood up as he saw the D Tent boys approaching, passing by a couple of guys from C Tent who were washing the Warden's DeSoto.

"_Mon amis_!" Jack called cheerfully, stretching out his hands in greeting. "My brothers, my boys! D Tent!"

"Man, fuck you…" Armpit grumbled, but Zigzag shouted back, "D Tent!"

"D TENT!" Jack yelled, enjoying himself immensely.

"D TENT!" the D Tent boys shouted, all as one. Jack rushed over to greet them. "First to fuckin' finish!" he said, to which all the others- save Zero- added their affirmations.

"All right, all right!" Jack said finally, aware of the tired looks on his tent-mates' faces. He fell in step with them as they ditched their shovels for the day.

The lanky blonde gave Stanley a look. "Surprised she knew your nickname?"

The new boy considered that. "Yeah- yeah, how did she know?"

Zigzag shivered a little in spite of the warm air, only just starting to cool at the end of the day. "Oh, man, she's got the whole place wired. She's got these tiny cameras. Got 'em in the Wreck Room; got 'em in the tents, in the showers. Little cameras too."

Squid just laughed, giving Stanley a light punch on the arm. "Man, don't listen to him," the dark-haired boy drawled. "I read his file. Said he suffers from, uh… acute paranoia."

"It's a flattering state of mind," Zigzag said defensively. "If they really are after me, it means they think I matter."

"Hey," Jack said suddenly, his getting a coy look on his face, "If she's got cameras in the showers… I bet she watches _me_."

Armpit gave Jack a shove, scoffing; caught off guard, Jack just managed to catch himself from falling over. "Man, Zigzag said 'cameras and microphones'. Not micro_scopes_!"

Jack's face flushed and he started to snap back a reply, but just then the horn sounded for dinner. The D Tent boys headed off for the final meal of the day, bantering back and forth the whole way. Jack was in a great mood that evening, and when they got back to the tent, he shared a bag of apples he'd snatched from the mess hall with everybody- even Zero. For Jack, Stanley noted, that probably counted as the very image of magnanimity.

The next day- Stanley's eighth since his arrival at Camp Green Lake- saw Jack resume his work. He wasn't elated, but he wasn't especially bothered, either. Jack just got up and went back to what he'd been doing every day for half a year- one day off was nice, but it wasn't enough to get used to.

Jack gaped when he saw the dig site; it was a wide, haphazard range of criss-crossing trenches, looking a lot like archaeological dig sites Jack had seen in books or museums. This, he recognized right away, was the way you dug for something you really wanted to find- and wished to make certain you did not damage or miss.

"You did all _this_ yesterday?" Jack asked, not even trying to hide his astonishment.

"Yeah," Stanley nodded. "Guess the Warden really meant it when she said we were gonna dig this dirt twice."

Quietly, Jack added, "I wonder what this is for." But he could say no more than that; Mr. Sir was on the scene a moment later, directing the boys into the trenches. C and F Tent joint them again for the day, but thankfully F Tent was at the opposite end of the dig site. Even so, Stanley noticed the Lump casting them dark looks now and then, and watched the divide between them well after sunrise.

An hour or so before noon, the Warden showed up. She was in good spirits, observing the dig teams carting wheelbarrows of dirt here and there as the dig site was slowly widened and the dirt sifted through with each load. After a time, she asked Mr. Sir to give her a tour of the trenches; Mr. Sir jumped to it as if he'd been ordered.

There was a surprising amount of space in the trenches by the time the Warden came down; they were twenty feet wide in some places. Unsurprisingly this was true of D Tent's main digging area, and the work was continuing steadily when the Warden arrived. "Good to have you back, Richie!" she called, nodding to the pale, blonde boy with the sleek, pointed face. "We could use your leadership to motivate the boys." She considered, and in a true indication of her good spirits, said, "Maybe your singing voice, too. You feel like giving us a song or two today?"

Jack grinned, feeling daring enough to flash his brilliant smile. "Yes, ma'am!"

Armpit hurried over suddenly, deliberately bumping into Jack and standing right where he'd been as the lanky blonde toppled over, squawking in surprise.

"Ma'am," Armpit said, "I think I've found something." He held up an object in one hand.

The Warden glanced at it for a moment, then stared back at Armpit; even though she wore her sunglasses as usual, it was obvious she was annoyed. The large boy had shown her a burner control dial for a 1980's stove. "Are you tryin' to be funny?" she asked quietly. "Or do you just think I'm stupid?"

Armpit gaped for a moment, then quickly shook his head. "Uh, no- no, ma'am. I wasn't tryin' to be funny-"

"Excuse me?"

Armpit fell silent.

Mr. Sir smirked. "Well, Armpit; your little joke just cost you a week of shower privileges."

A chorus of groans sounded from the D Tent boys, all working nearby. "Man," Squid said, "You sleepin' out_side_!"

"All right, everyone," the Warden called over the complaints, "Back to work!"

"You heard her!" Mr. Pendanski as he worked his way towards them. "Back to work!"

The Warden turned and headed back the way she'd come, her good mood gone in a hurry. Seeing this, Mr. Sir hurried along and tried to reassure her. "Everything's goin' real well," Jack heard him say, but the Warden just snapped, "I don't think so. I want _results_."

Once they were safely out of range, Jack, digging across the trench from Zigzag, chuckled. "_Je veux des résultats_!" he said, snickering as he imitated the Texas twang in the Warden's speech.

"_J'ai _obtenu_ des résultats_!" Zigzag shot back, grinning and grabbing his privates suggestively. Jack laughed.

Grumbling as he went back to work, Armpit muttered darkly, "Buncha frogs in this trench, that's what we got, man. Just a pair a' frogs. Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit. That's all I hear comin' outta you twos."

Switching back to English, Jack imitated a stereotypical English nobleman, saying, "But French is _ever_ so fashionable amongst the upper classes, old chap!"

But Armpit was in no mood that day, and everybody had to duck as he suddenly turned and threw his shovel at Jack, sending it flying through the air like a javelin. Jack had anticipated this, though, and sprinted away, cackling madly. He didn't reappear until lunchtime, which in any case was ten minutes later by that point. He did his best not to agitate Armpit any further, but after a while the larger boy didn't much seem to care; it was well-known he didn't much care to take showers anyway. He'd probably end up missing only one or two.

Jack, for his part, remained in a decent mood throughout his first day back, even poking his head above the trenches an hour after lunch to make sure only Mr. Pendanski was present; and he, for whatever reason, was asleep in one of the camp trucks.

There was two hours or so of work left for that afternoon; each day now they dug until exactly 3:30PM. The Warden had instituted this change, believing it would better motivate the boys to produce results. Jack, checking periodically even after Mr. Pendanski woke up from his nap, quietly allowed one boy from D Tent- one at a time- to rest in a shaded, narrower stretch of trench for about fifteen minutes at a time while the others worked at a reduced pace. It would work for today, Jack reminded them with a sly grin, but the Warden would surely be back tomorrow. Stanley was given his turn, but Jack never offered one to Zero, who never said anything about it. Stanley had a feeling Zero would have refused; apparently he liked digging holes.

Had anybody been watching, though, Zero threw several dark, sidelong glances at Jack that afternoon, his only chance to show his resentment. Jack, had he seen one of those glances, might have paused and taken notice. Perhaps he'd have laid off Zero a bit- or at the very least, done what he could to ensure he all but had eyes in the back of his head. But Jack didn't notice. He went right on sleeping in the shade when his turn came, enjoying what had to be one of his easiest working afternoons in the whole time he'd been at Camp Green Lake.


	11. Chapter 11- The Sunflower Seeds

**Chapter XII- A Secret Ingredient**

* * *

The drive back to the Warden's cabin didn't take long; Stanley wished it could have taken longer. Mr. Sir chuckled softly upon seeing the look of dread on the camper's face; he could hardly wait to see another of these little punks get what was coming to him. It had been far too long since that big hero of theirs, that skinny little twerp Jack Merridew, had been given a reminder of his own not to step outside of his station at Camp Green Lake…

Pausing to smooth out his hair, Mr. Sir knocked on the door.

"What?" the Warden's voice answered; she sounded surprised, and with good reason. People knocking at her door during the day was unusual to begin with, and it was only stranger still if nobody called her first.

"Seems like the Caveman found something," Mr. Sir said, smirking a little.

Footsteps hurried to the cabin door, and the Warden appeared as she opened it, throwing on a dark brown leather jacket. "What is it?" she asked, her eyes darting between Mr. Sir and Stanley in sudden excitement. After a moment, she opened the door wider, motioning for them to come on. "Come on!" she said, waving a hand. "Come on, you're lettin' the cold out."

It was delightfully cool in the Warden's cabin; distantly Stanley could hear a window-mounted, box A/C unit making its signature watery buzz. He hadn't felt air conditioning in almost two weeks now; already, Stanley was beginning to wonder if it still existed.

"Tell her," Mr. Sir prompted once the door was closed.

The Warden looked at Stanley expectantly; Stanley decided then he would just have to stick with the story he'd chosen. It would do no good to change it now.

Clearing his throat nervously, Stanley said, "While Mr. Sir was filling our canteens…"

The Warden nodded encouragingly.

"… I snuck into his truck, and… stole his sunflower seeds."

The red-haired woman paused, a blank look coming over her face.

"Yep," Mr. Sir nodded in the silence, "That's it, all right."

The Warden pointed across the room, towards another room in the cabin that might have been her bedroom. "Caveman, would you kindly bring me that little brass case- in the bureau over there, with my nail polish in it?"

Stanley nodded, all too willing to do most anything to stall his demise. "Yeah- uh, yes, ma'am."

As Stanley headed for the Warden's bedroom, the Warden and Mr. Sir each sat down on one of the two couches in the living room, facing each other. "The little punks think I don't see much; but the opposite is true, as you well know."

"See, you know what my philosophy is," Mr. Sir said, sounding smug. "I keep 'em in line with my system- punishment, and reward. Punishment- "he smacked his hands together- "and reward."

Stanley, standing in the Warden's bedroom, stopped near her dresser, looking around for the brass case holding the nail polish. His eyes landed on the wall above it- and scanned over a group, a whole set, of framed, preserved posters.

Wanted posters, every one of them talking about the same person. Stanley's eyes scanned over the headlines, shouted out even more than 100 years later.

KATE BARLOW ELUDES POSSE

TRAIN CARGO OF GOLD STOLEN- KATE BARLOW & BANDITS RESPONSIBLE

SHE ONLY KISSES THE MEN SHE KILLS- KATE BARLOW

KATE BARLOW ROBS CHICAGO-PACIFIC TRAIN

And the one on the far right: KATE BARLOW'S REVENGE

The articles beneath painted a fascinating story; of a schoolteacher from a small town in Texas who had kissed a black farmer, then seen him killed before her eyes by a mob. She had gone on to become the most successful bandit & bank robber in all of Texas, robbing dozens of banks and never getting caught once. She left her trademark lipstick on the foreheads of men she shot and killed, giving them her infamous kiss. Fortunes had been lost to Kate Barlow and her henchmen, and with every raid she was taking revenge- paying back just a fraction of the damage done to her life when the man she'd loved was killed, simply for having the wrong colour of skin.

All those robberies- banks, trains, wagons- and none of the stolen money, jewels or precious metals had ever been recovered. Stanley had heard of this woman before, come to think of it- she was a legend from the old Wild West days. Never caught, and none of her loot had ever been found. It was all still out there- someplace.

Why did any of this matter to the Warden? Why did she have old WANTED posters and newspaper articles- from Kate Barlow's days, no less- on the wall of her room?

Stanley wondered again just what they were really digging for.

Back in the living room, Mr. Sir was still talking, thoroughly pleased with himself. "So, every time they see me comin', little shiver goes up their spine. 'Cause, they know I know. Snaky bunch over there in D Tent- the one they call Richie, he's the worst of them all. He thinks he's a step ahead'a me, but I'm miles ahead'a him. Heh. Yeah, he knows I'm watchin', all right."

Stanley knew he'd been gone about as long as was at all reasonable; he quickly found the brass case, checked it for the nail polish, and upon finding it returned to the living room.

"Come on over here, Stanley," the Warden said, and Stanley obeyed, handing her the brass case and standing nearby. "Thank you," the Warden said, opening the case and taking out one of the small bottles inside.

She held it up- it held a pinkish liquid, one that looked normal enough, but had a tint to it Stanley hadn't ever seen before. It gave him a strange feeling of unease.

"You know what this is, Caveman?" the Warden asked, glancing at Stanley. "This is my special nail polish." She shook the small bottle, speaking as she unscrewed the cap and started adding the polish to her nails, painted a rich shade of lavender. "I make it myself. You wanna know my secret ingredient?" She glanced up at Stanley for a moment.

"Rattlesnake venom. I just _love_ what it does to the colourin'."

The Warden finished polishing the five nails of her left hand, holding them up. "It's perfectly harmless… when it's dry." The Warden held the palm side of her left hand up to Stanley, brushing the underside of her nails against his face. Stanley suddenly found himself fighting not to scream.

She paused, as if considering whether she should say more. "I know what a hero Richie is to you boys," she said reflectively, studying the wet polish on her nails. "He breaks all the rules- at least once. His voice makes the boys listen; and I'm sure you've heard he's quite a singer."

The Warden paused again, glancing up at Stanley. "If you think he can _sing_, Caveman, you really ought to hear 'im _scream_ sometime." Almost reflectively, she went on, "It's just amazing, how much pain rattlesnake venom can cause. All you have to do is paint just a little on the tips of the nails. For effect."

She smiled grimly, as if remembering some pleasant memory- but one that had clearly not been so pleasant for somebody else.

"It's really quite funny, Caveman, how much a boy sounds like a girl- when he's in pain."

A cold feeling settled into Stanley's stomach, in a way that had nothing to do with the air conditioned cabin.

Stanley thought again of the three slash-mark scars on the left side of Jack's face; they were slowly fading, and given enough time they might fade enough so as to no longer be noticeable. But Stanley had heard about this before, but now, hearing the Warden retell a piece of the story of Jack's most painful transgression, Stanley wondered if there wasn't more to this. Rattlesnake venom sounded like a strong punishment for a boy telling you that you were pretty.

The Warden did not leave the floor open to questions, though- certainly not from Stanley. Instead, she turned to Mr. Sir, who had wisely been keeping quiet this whole time. He had stood up, and was pacing the floor to the Warden's right.

"So you think he stole your sunflower seeds?" the Warden asked, her voice neutral.

But Mr. Sir just shook his head. "No, I don't. I think he's coverin' for Richie Rich or somebody. It was a five-pound sack, and he claims to have eaten it all."

Holding up the empty back, Stanley said, "But-but it was half-full when I got it. There was a lot in my hole, too; you can check that."

"I will," Mr. Sir nodded with a smirk. "I will check it-"

With speed that would have stunned one of the rattlesnakes that lived out on the lake bed, the Warden lashed out with her left hand. The sound made a sharp WHAP! in the living room of the cabin, and Mr. Sir toppled over with a yell of surprise and pain, taking one of the couches with him.

The Warden stood up, turning briefly to Stanley. Her face was tense, as if concealing great fury, but her eyes were flat and neutral when she looked at Stanley. "I suggest," she said as Mr. Sir flopped around on the floor, yelling and clutching the right side of his face, "you go on back to your hole now."

Stanley followed her suggestion quite readily, heading for the door and closing it behind him as the Warden said coldly to Mr. Sir, "I liked it better when you smoked."


	12. Chapter 12- A Secret Ingredient

**Chapter XII- A Secret Ingredient**

* * *

The drive back to the Warden's cabin didn't take long; Stanley wished it could have taken longer. Mr. Sir chuckled softly upon seeing the look of dread on the camper's face; he could hardly wait to see another of these little punks get what was coming to him. It had been far too long since that big hero of theirs, that skinny little twerp Jack Merridew, had been given a reminder of his own not to step outside of his station at Camp Green Lake…

Pausing to smooth out his hair, Mr. Sir knocked on the door.

"What?" the Warden's voice answered; she sounded surprised, and with good reason. People knocking at her door during the day was unusual to begin with, and it was only stranger still if nobody called her first.

"Seems like the Caveman found something," Mr. Sir said, smirking a little.

Footsteps hurried to the cabin door, and the Warden appeared as she opened it, throwing on a dark brown leather jacket. "What is it?" she asked, her eyes darting between Mr. Sir and Stanley in sudden excitement. After a moment, she opened the door wider, motioning for them to come on. "Come on!" she said, waving a hand. "Come on, you're lettin' the cold out."

It was delightfully cool in the Warden's cabin; distantly Stanley could hear a window-mounted, box A/C unit making its signature watery buzz. He hadn't felt air conditioning in almost two weeks now; already, Stanley was beginning to wonder if it still existed.

"Tell her," Mr. Sir prompted once the door was closed.

The Warden looked at Stanley expectantly; Stanley decided then he would just have to stick with the story he'd chosen. It would do no good to change it now.

Clearing his throat nervously, Stanley said, "While Mr. Sir was filling our canteens…"

The Warden nodded encouragingly.

"… I snuck into his truck, and… stole his sunflower seeds."

The red-haired woman paused, a blank look coming over her face.

"Yep," Mr. Sir nodded in the silence, "That's it, all right."

The Warden pointed across the room, towards another room in the cabin that might have been her bedroom. "Caveman, would you kindly bring me that little brass case- in the bureau over there, with my nail polish in it?"

Stanley nodded, all too willing to do most anything to stall his demise. "Yeah- uh, yes, ma'am."

As Stanley headed for the Warden's bedroom, the Warden and Mr. Sir each sat down on one of the two couches in the living room, facing each other. "The little punks think I don't see much; but the opposite is true, as you well know."

"See, you know what my philosophy is," Mr. Sir said, sounding smug. "I keep 'em in line with my system- punishment, and reward. Punishment- "he smacked his hands together- "and reward."

Stanley, standing in the Warden's bedroom, stopped near her dresser, looking around for the brass case holding the nail polish. His eyes landed on the wall above it- and scanned over a group, a whole set, of framed, preserved posters.

Wanted posters, every one of them talking about the same person. Stanley's eyes scanned over the headlines, shouted out even more than 100 years later.

KATE BARLOW ELUDES POSSE

TRAIN CARGO OF GOLD STOLEN- KATE BARLOW & BANDITS RESPONSIBLE

SHE ONLY KISSES THE MEN SHE KILLS- KATE BARLOW

KATE BARLOW ROBS CHICAGO-PACIFIC TRAIN

And the one on the far right: KATE BARLOW'S REVENGE

The articles beneath painted a fascinating story; of a schoolteacher from a small town in Texas who had kissed a black farmer, then seen him killed before her eyes by a mob. She had gone on to become the most successful bandit & bank robber in all of Texas, robbing dozens of banks and never getting caught once. She left her trademark lipstick on the foreheads of men she shot and killed, giving them her infamous kiss. Fortunes had been lost to Kate Barlow and her henchmen, and with every raid she was taking revenge- paying back just a fraction of the damage done to her life when the man she'd loved was killed, simply for having the wrong colour of skin.

All those robberies- banks, trains, wagons- and none of the stolen money, jewels or precious metals had ever been recovered. Stanley had heard of this woman before, come to think of it- she was a legend from the old Wild West days. Never caught, and none of her loot had ever been found. It was all still out there- someplace.

Why did any of this matter to the Warden? Why did she have old WANTED posters and newspaper articles- from Kate Barlow's days, no less- on the wall of her room?

Stanley wondered again just what they were really digging for.

Back in the living room, Mr. Sir was still talking, thoroughly pleased with himself. "So, every time they see me comin', little shiver goes up their spine. 'Cause, they know I know. Snaky bunch over there in D Tent- the one they call Richie, he's the worst of them all. He thinks he's a step ahead'a me, but I'm miles ahead'a him. Heh. Yeah, he knows I'm watchin', all right."

Stanley knew he'd been gone about as long as was at all reasonable; he quickly found the brass case, checked it for the nail polish, and upon finding it returned to the living room.

"Come on over here, Stanley," the Warden said, and Stanley obeyed, handing her the brass case and standing nearby. "Thank you," the Warden said, opening the case and taking out one of the small bottles inside.

She held it up- it held a pinkish liquid, one that looked normal enough, but had a tint to it Stanley hadn't ever seen before. It gave him a strange feeling of unease.

"You know what this is, Caveman?" the Warden asked, glancing at Stanley. "This is my special nail polish." She shook the small bottle, speaking as she unscrewed the cap and started adding the polish to her nails, painted a rich shade of lavender. "I make it myself. You wanna know my secret ingredient?" She glanced up at Stanley for a moment.

"Rattlesnake venom. I just _love_ what it does to the colourin'."

The Warden finished polishing the five nails of her left hand, holding them up. "It's perfectly harmless… when it's dry." The Warden held the palm side of her left hand up to Stanley, brushing the underside of her nails against his face. Stanley suddenly found himself fighting not to scream.

She paused, as if considering whether she should say more. "I know what a hero Richie is to you boys," she said reflectively, studying the wet polish on her nails. "He breaks all the rules- at least once. His voice makes the boys listen; and I'm sure you've heard he's quite a singer."

The Warden paused again, glancing up at Stanley. "If you think he can _sing_, Caveman, you really ought to hear 'im _scream_ sometime." Almost reflectively, she went on, "It's just amazing, how much pain rattlesnake venom can cause. All you have to do is paint just a little on the tips of the nails. For effect."

She smiled grimly, as if remembering some pleasant memory- but one that had clearly not been so pleasant for somebody else.

"It's really quite funny, Caveman, how much a boy sounds like a girl- when he's in pain."

A cold feeling settled into Stanley's stomach, in a way that had nothing to do with the air conditioned cabin.

Stanley thought again of the three slash-mark scars on the left side of Jack's face; they were slowly fading, and given enough time they might fade enough so as to no longer be noticeable. But Stanley had heard about this before, but now, hearing the Warden retell a piece of the story of Jack's most painful transgression, Stanley wondered if there wasn't more to this. Rattlesnake venom sounded like a strong punishment for a boy telling you that you were pretty.

The Warden did not leave the floor open to questions, though- certainly not from Stanley. Instead, she turned to Mr. Sir, who had wisely been keeping quiet this whole time. He had stood up, and was pacing the floor to the Warden's right.

"So you think he stole your sunflower seeds?" the Warden asked, her voice neutral.

But Mr. Sir just shook his head. "No, I don't. I think he's coverin' for Richie Rich or somebody. It was a five-pound sack, and he claims to have eaten it all."

Holding up the empty back, Stanley said, "But-but it was half-full when I got it. There was a lot in my hole, too; you can check that."

"I will," Mr. Sir nodded with a smirk. "I will check it-"

With speed that would have stunned one of the rattlesnakes that lived out on the lake bed, the Warden lashed out with her left hand. The sound made a sharp WHAP! in the living room of the cabin, and Mr. Sir toppled over with a yell of surprise and pain, taking one of the couches with him.

The Warden stood up, turning briefly to Stanley. Her face was tense, as if concealing great fury, but her eyes were flat and neutral when she looked at Stanley. "I suggest," she said as Mr. Sir flopped around on the floor, yelling and clutching the right side of his face, "you go on back to your hole now."

Stanley followed her suggestion quite readily, heading for the door and closing it behind him as the Warden said coldly to Mr. Sir, "I liked it better when you smoked."


	13. Chapter 13- The Second Hole

**Chapter XIII- The Second Hole**

* * *

It was 3:15 in the afternoon. Stanley had been gone for at least an hour, and Jack lounged about in his hole, stripped to the waist and resting in the afternoon shade his completed hole provided. He was in no hurry to walk back; for one thing, he wanted to see if Stanley would come back with a set of slash marks of his own. For another, Jack didn't want to return to camp without at least one of his D Tent boys, particularly his friend Zigzag. F Tent had somehow gotten done and gone home early today, and Jack didn't like the idea of running into the Lump again without backup.

Suddenly, though, Jack got an idea; tying his orange blouse about his waist, he stood up and walked over to Zigzag's hole. "Heh," Jack smirked as he gazed over at Zero about twenty feet away, "Check that shit out."

Zigzag looked- and stared.

Zero had finished his own hole some time ago; most of the boys hadn't noticed, but he'd actually gotten out of his own hole and moved into Stanley's. He was now working steadily, apparently having decided to finish it.

"Dude," Zigzag said, "Is he fuckin' for real?" The taller boy looked up at Jack, amazement clear on his face. "I mean- what? Where did this come from? Caveman shows up and Zero talks more to him on Day One than he talks to any of us in a month." Zigzag stared over at Zero for a few moments, Jack smirking as he got an idea. Zigzag shook his head finally and went back to his own digging; his hole was nearly done and he had a shower to look forward to. Jack gave him a light punch on the shoulder and stood up. "Watch this shit, bro," Jack said, standing up and walking over towards Zero. The rest of the boys were still preoccupied with their work, but more than a few eyes were cast Jack's way as he strode over to Stanley's hole. Ol' Richie was not headed over there to say what's up, how ya doin'.

Jack saw Zero's eyes flick up at him as he approached, but they went down again as he dug into the bottom of the hole, lifting yet another shovel-full of dirt and tossing it up and out. Jack just smirked, crouching near Stanley's hole and looking down at him. Zero had strands of frazzled, curly hair, almost a mix between Zigzag's and Stanley's. He had tan skin, almost like… what was it Grandpa Bill had said once? A mulatto. Part white, part not. Jack felt a vague sense of pity for Zero; this kid probably had no idea who his family was, or where they were from. Jack, on the other hand, had seen books in the family home's library- and there _was_ a separate room dedicated as a library- documenting 400 years of English, French, and Northern Irish ancestry. Jack was proud to know his family's history, even its centuries-old motto. _Ego Servo Promissionem Meam_; I Keep My Promise.

"What's up, stupid?" Jack said, by way of starting conversation.

Zero ignored him. This was nothing new; he always had. The lanky blonde knew Zero hated him; contrary to what the smaller boy probably believed, Jack noticed the dark glances Zero threw his way once in a while. He knew Zero had no love for him, and took a smug pride in the fact that he had all the right safeguards in place to keep Zero from doing anything about it.

Jack was in charge, the master of D Tent whenever the Warden's eyes weren't on it. And the Warden herself could clearly care less about a little hazing in the ranks, so that meant Zero's ass was grass and Jack a lawnmower any day of the week.

Continuing as if Zero had responded in some way, Jack said reflectively, "You know, I know your real name." Zero did look up at that, pausing briefly to look at Jack with some measure of curiosity. But Jack was still wearing that mocking smirk, so Zero just went back to his work.

_Just ignore him_, Zero thought with grim resolve, _and perhaps he'll go away_.

But Jack didn't feel like leaving just yet. The lanky blonde tilted his head a little. "Zerroonnni. _Hector_ Zeroni. Saw it in your file one time when I was in Mr. Sir's office."

Then he really hit his stride; Jack had always been good at striking where it counted, with his fists or with his voice. He was an excellent fist-fighter, agile and a true champ at fast attacks, lightning-quick knockouts and if necessary, speedy getaways. But Jack's real power was with his voice. He was an excellent speaker, and knew how to sway the stupid, dull-witted power of a mob his way. Jack smiled as he spoke again, knowing he was aiming right where Zero was not gonna be able to ignore him.

"You know why nobody remembers your name?" Jack asked, and Zero just kept digging. The blonde just shrugged and answered his own question. "It's because nobody _wants_ to remember your name. There's too many little twerps at Camp Green Lake. Too many Zeroni's and Lewinski's and Polikarpov's- all you random motherfuckers who got plucked off the fuckin' street and dragged here. And they're all like you. They're all silent, wannabe tough guys."

Zero kept digging.

Jack cocked his head, feeling a little angry he was being ignored; he didn't like that. "So you wanna dig Caveman's hole, huh?" Jack said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wanna be his buddy, dig his fuckin' hole for him? Fine. That's just fine. But just remember, moron- I _run_ your world! Stanley's just livin' in it."

Zero dug, resolutely paying no attention at all. Sooner or later, he knew, this arrogant boy would shut up and go away. No words would satisfy the dislike he felt for this thin, bony-shouldered blonde, this boy who believed that he was better than everyone because his skin was ivory-white and his pockets were lined with green. But he'd been through this before, though it seemed to have picked up on its frequency since Stanley had shown up, and Zero had taken a liking to him. Maybe Jack was jealous; even though he had no desire to be Zero's friend, it annoyed him if it didn't turn out that no one else wanted to be, either.

A pale hand suddenly shot out and shoved Zero in the chest, knocking him back against the far side of his hole. He looked up, and there was Jack, anger flaring in his eyes. "_Look at me_ when I'm talkin' to you!"

Zero just stared back from under his boonie hat, his right hand forming a death grip on his shovel. He'd about had it with this…

Jack seemed to be thinking a similar thing. His right hand balled into a fist, and he tensed as he considered a second strike. Zero was ready this time, but Zigzag had been making his way over, and grabbed Jack's shoulders from behind.

"Come on, Richie," Zigzag said, "Let's just get our own holes done. Let's stop wastin' time, man."

Zigzag made an effort to pull Jack away, but the blonde resisted, casting a dark glance down at Zero. "Why?" he demanded. "I want this fucker to know."

"Know what?" Zigzag asked. "That you're in charge? Come on, man, we _all_ fuckin' know." He cast a glance behind him. "Ain't that right, guys?"

"Yeah," Magnet said. "Sure, man. You the chief, dude."

Armpit shrugged his broad shoulders. "Yeah, whatever, man."

"You're in charge, Richie," Squid said, and finally Jack smiled. He nodded and walked off towards his own hole, shooting the shit with Zigzag as they went back to the finishing touches on their own holes- and waited for Stanley to show up.

"Richie Rich is _cold_, man," Armpit said after a moment. "Think he oughta change his name to Ice Cube."

Zero kept digging.


	14. Chapter 14- The Deal

**Chapter XIV- The Deal**

* * *

It was close to four in the afternoon when Stanley finally showed up. He just appeared out of the vast reaches of the desert, walking along easily enough with his canteen at his side. Zigzag caught sight of him first, calling out as Stanley got within fifty feet or so.

"Hey, look who showed up. Caveman," Zigzag called, "we thought you were dead for sure!"

Magnet looked up. "Hey, Caveman- what you say?"

Stanley just shrugged. "Nothin'."

"What'd she do to you?" Jack said, trying to hide his interest.

"Nothin'."

The boys exchanged looks of disbelief.

"Nothin'!" Armpit repeated, as if he couldn't quite believe it- which was certainly the case. But Stanley was here, and unharmed at that. None of the D Tent boys quite knew what to make of it.

Jack nodded with some satisfaction as Stanley returned to his hole; the Caveman hadn't snitched. That gained him a few points; it had to.

Stanley looked down at his hole, gaping in amazement. "Thank you, guys!" he exclaimed, picking up the shovel leaning against the hole's wall and measuring it. Just right.

Magnet laughed. "Don't look at us; it was Zero!"

"Yeah," Zigzag said, "That boy likes to dig holes, man."

Throwing a big chunk of dirt over his shoulder, Armpit just shook his head. "He'll dig a hole to _China_, man."

"Yeah," Squid said with a laugh, "but where them _Chinese_ kids dig to?"

Armpit threw him a glare. "Man, shut up!"

"I'm shakin', bro," Squid called back with plenty of sarcasm.

Stanley looked around for Zero; the smaller boy was sitting back at his own hole, quietly watching the proceedings. Observing, but never commenting- as always. Stanley walked over and sat down across the hole from him.

"Hey, Zero," Stanley said as he sat down, "Why'd you dig my hole, man?"

"You didn't steal the sunflower seeds," Zero said simply.

"Yeah," Stanley shrugged, "But so what? Neither did you."

"You didn't steal the shoes."

Stanley stared; how was Zero so certain?

Zero didn't say anything else; for perhaps a full minute the two boys sat in silence. Then Stanley got an idea; he looked over at Zero.

"Still wanna learn how to read?"

Zero nodded.

Stanley put out his hand. "All right," he said, and they shook hands briefly. Zero smiled, perhaps the first time Stanley- or anyone else- had seen him do that.

Jack sniggered, but Zigzag threw him a sour look. "Come on, man," he said quietly. Zigzag normally didn't get in between Jack and anybody the blonde targeted, but sometimes Jack didn't know when to shut up. Everybody had a breaking point, and if nothing else Zigzag just wanted to make sure Jack never pushed anybody- even Zero- beyond his.

Richie Rich was a good fighter, but after plenty of mock fistfights with him, Zigzag knew the lanky blonde was all about coming in hard and fast, ending things quickly and before his opponent could even muster a counterattack. Zigzag was taller and stronger than Jack, and he could tell the blonde tired quickly in a drawn-out fight. And he was hardly invincible; Zigzag knew if Jack wasn't careful, someone could someday hurt him badly. Jack wasn't the only person in the world with bigger friends around.

Jack, for his part, just shrugged and went back to his work, finishing his hole ten minutes later and rounding up the rest of D Tent for the return trip, as they had all finished their own digging by then.

The long walk back to camp went easily enough; the sun was beginning to set, casting an amber-reddish glow over the desert. Jack would never think of sunsets the same way again; they were very different out here in Texas than they were in his fair home state back East.

Back in the mess hall, Jack lined everybody in D Tent up and went first, as usual. He happened to glance up while Mr. Sir was looking his way, and nearly recoiled- there were two long slash-marks on the right side of Mr. Sir's face, tinged with a reddish-purple edge as the swelling set in.

Jack was smart, though, and said nothing. He forced his face to go blank, and averted his eyes as he moved down the line with his tray.

Mr. Sir was arguing with one of the cooks, shaking his head in annoyance as he looked at a receipt from the grocery store that supplied Camp Green Lake. "You gotta be kiddin' me," Mr. Sir grouched. "Fourteen dollars for some stinkin' onions? We don't _need_ no stinkin' onions!"

"Well, you told me to _get_ onions."

"Next time don't bother, not if they're gonna be fourteen flippin' _dollars_!" Mr. Sir snapped. He turned towards the tall pot of soup the onions had been mixed into. "If this soup is so damn expensive, it better be good. Get outta the way; I'm gonna taste it."

The cook stood aside. "Go ahead, taste it; I don't care."

"I'll taste it, then, thanks for lettin' me be in charge," Mr. Sir said sarcastically.

Just then, Squid was at that very point in the serving line; he gaped at Mr. Sir and the scarred right side of his face. "Woah! What happened to your face?"

For just a moment, Mr. Sir just looked up and stared. Then he dropped the ladle he'd been picking up back into the pot, grabbed Squid, and pulled him up so they were face-to-face. Squid's tray and silverware crashed to the floor of the mess hall.

"Is somethin' the matter with my face? Huh?"

Squid was too frightened to even shake his head. "No! No, Mr. Sir," was all he could say.

Mr. Sir nodded. "You got that right." He threw Squid away from the serving line; he struck one of the tables and crashed to the floor.

"Anybody see something wrong with my face?" Mr. Sir shouted at the occupants of the mess hall. "I think I'm kinda purty; don't you?!"

A chorus of boys echoed, "Yes, Mr. Sir."

There was a long pause; finally, Mr. Sir gestured down at the spilled contents of Squid's tray. "Clean this up." He strode out of the room.

"Now, I think we've just learned a valuable lesson," Dr. Pendanski announced, standing up at the staff table. "We're all people! And Mr. Sir is a very sensitive man, just like all of us."

Outside, there came a great metallic crash; it sounded like Mr. Sir had kicked over a trash can or something.

The next day was Stanley's thirteenth at Camp Green Lake. The boys lined up behind the water truck at lunchtime, just like always. But unlike always, Mr. Sir gave Stanley a cold glare when his turn came. "You thirsty, Yelnats?" Mr. Sir asked quietly, and a tired Stanley, who most certainly was, nodded. "Yes, Mr. Sir."

Mr. Sir swung the switch that controlled water flow out of the tank on the truck's bed; a stream of cold water came out, splattering on the sun-baked, parched ground. This went on for a few moments, then stopped as Mr. Sir flipped the switch back. He handed Stanley an empty canteen, nodding. "Here," Mr. Sir said, "That should hold you."

Nearby, crouched near his own hole on the pile of excess dirt, the lanky, blonde boss of D Tent watched curiously, his eyes narrowing.

"Zig," he said quietly, "That ain't right, dog."

Zigzag, sitting up against the pile of dirt and wiping his forehead with a grimy arm, looked over, squinting in the bright noonday sun. "What?"

"Mr. Sir just poured a bunch of water out on the ground. He didn't give anything to the Caveman."

Zigzag squinted, staring over at Stanley as he returned to his hole. "Damn," Zigzag said, upon observing that Stanley's canteen did indeed appear to be empty. "That ain't right," he said in agreement.

Jack got up, having made his decision. He walked over as Stanley and Zero were talking, crouching beside them. His eyes gleamed coldly as he looked at Zero, but he was neutral when he looked at Stanley. "Listen," Jack said quietly, "I saw what Mr. Sir did. You covered for one of my boys, and that counts with Richie. Mr. Sir got his ass whipped; takin' it out on you ain't right."

Stanley considered this, surprised Richie gave much of a damn. He had protected Stanley from that yellow-spotted lizard, though… perhaps Richie Rich was just afraid to recognize whatever kindness lay within him, making his few acts of selfless courage or generosity random and hard to explain. Finally, though, Stanley nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I guess that's true."

Jack laughed a little. "Damn right it is." He pointed at Stanley's canteen. "Give it here."

Stanley looked at Jack for a moment, but the blonde just stared back. Stanley picked up his empty canteen and handed it over. Just like last time, Jack unscrewed the cap on both his and Stanley's canteens, pouring enough water into Stanley's canteen to make it close to half full. He handed the canteen back after screwing the caps back on.

"Thanks," Stanley said, still surprised. Jack just grinned, seeming to like how unexpected this clearly was for Stanley. "D Tent, Caveman."

That seemed to be a slogan for the boys sometimes. Stanley nodded. "D Tent," he echoed, and Jack nodded, satisfied, then got up and walked away.


	15. Chapter 15- Aide de Camp

**Chapter XV- Aide de Camp**

* * *

Fourteen days. Two whole weeks. Half a month. That was how long Stanley Yelnats IV had been at Camp Green Lake. He'd made a friend or two, and gained the overall acceptance of his tent-mates as they bestowed on him a nickname. The de facto head of D Tent, the tall, lanky boy with the blonde hair and icy blue eyes, went by the nickname of Richie Rich. The reason for his name seemed obvious enough; the boy was the richest camper at Camp Green Lake. It really was no contest, if even half the clues at his family's wealth were true.

Richie Rich's real name was Jack Merridew; Stanley had learned that the day he'd arrived, though he'd angered the arrogant boy by asking the simple question. Even after two weeks, Stanley still had really no idea why someone as rich as Jack was even at Camp Green Lake; the overwhelming majority of 'campers' were here because they'd done something illegal and hadn't had a lawyer good enough to bail them out.

Jack had certainly fulfilled the first part of the criteria; Stanley had noticed soon after his arrival that the blonde was an arrogant rule-breaker, someone who believed the rules were an annoyance, there to be broken at need or convenience.

But what about the second? Even if Jack had indeed done something illegal and been busted for it, still didn't explain why he was here. The boys at Camp Green Lake were, mostly, from Texas or a neighboring state. The implication was that Jack was from "back East", likely a state like Maryland, Delaware, or Virginia. That made his presence here all the more strange. Perhaps Jack, an adrenaline junkie with a penchant for girls and rule-breaking, had lived up the playboy life enough that his parents finally just threw him to the dogs for once. That was possible, and made a fair amount of sense when Stanley thought about it, because from the sound of things Jack's family couldn't have just bought a lawyer. They could've bought a judge.

It was strange to Stanley, regardless, that he knew so little about not only Richie Rich, but about any of the other boys in his tent- except, perhaps, Zero. Beyond their first names and some other basic information, Stanley knew little about them, either. Obviously nobody here was eager to tell anyone else their life story, and it was also clear that they didn't like talking about their misfortune with other 'campers'. Everyone here had his own story about how he'd been sent to this little patch of hell on a dry lake bed in Texas. They all had their misfortunes, and were sick and tired of thinking about them.

But the one thing Stanley knew about Jack- the one thing he was sure was real- was that he had high hopes for his future. Hardly an uncommon trait at first glance, but Jack clearly came from a family with high standards- standards his presence here meant he was likely failing. And he was constantly humming, singing lines from songs he knew- or perhaps, had written or was writing himself. Often, when Stanley came back to the tent after dinner, Jack was there on his bed, frowning in concentration as he either wrote a letter- or yet another set of song lyrics. He was constantly showing sheets of paper to Zigzag, pointing at lines and asking "Well, how about that?" or "Does that sound good?"

And that was the one thing Stanley was sure he knew about Jack, whether Jack himself wanted Stanley to know it or not: Jack wanted to be a celebrity. He wanted to be a singer, a handsome boy whose looks and voice awed crowds of millions. Maybe it would last only a few years; maybe it would last the rest of his life. But Jack wanted the world to hear his voice- hear it, and never forget it.

As it happened, Stanley Yelnats was actually quite correct in his musings about D Tent's leader. All of them, more or less, were accurate to so close a degree as made no real difference. So on the fourteenth day since Stanley's arrival, Jack paid little attention to Stanley or to Zero, seeming preoccupied with humming and occasionally singing, and when he wasn't doing that constantly talking with Zigzag or somebody else in D Tent.

Jack relied heavily on the power of his voice; strong and as attractive as he was, Jack often used his voice as a weapon. He turned it against people he thought to be less than him, or to persuade others to do what he wanted. The lanky blonde knew well how to tell adults what they wanted to hear; with those his age or older, Jack could flatter shamelessly when he wanted to. But Jack knew his voice was no mere tool or weapon; it was his sun and moon, the centre of his ability to gain power and go places in life.

He was gifted with great abilities of persuasion, yes, but what Jack enjoyed most- what truly brought him joy- was singing. He'd first given it a shot when he was five, at the Anglican church his family attended, and for the next ten years had steadily practiced his ability to craft the sound of music with his voice, primarily through the boys' choir at church.

Jack hadn't given serious consideration to shooting high in this way before Camp Green Lake; the Merridews favoured discretion, and preferred to shy away from the headlines. There were many successful Merridews in history, but few famous ones. But in the long, long hours of digging and sleeping and sitting around, Jack's mind had turned to music. Now and then he turned to jerking off, but that didn't help as much as he'd hoped. Not for as long as Jack hoped, anyway. What did was singing, or thinking about singing.

So Jack had begun writing the lyrics to one song, then two, until by now he had the better part of six or seven in the works. They were mostly about the things Jack loved most: parties, girls, adrenaline and living life to the fullest. Some, though, were romantic, the sort of thing he had started writing when passing notes to girls he liked in class. It was just the sort of thing that made their hearts melt; for whatever reason, girls just loved boys to write- and especially, sing- romantic poetry to them.

Out of the more romantic songs, Jack's favourite- and the one he'd sometimes felt was so stupid he'd actually thrown it away twice, then gone back and got it- was a song called "Evergreen". He'd written several stanzas to it, switching the order around here and there. It was a song about the winter holidays, and for Jack that meant Christmas.

Sitting alone on the porch of the Wreck Room, Jack unfolded the sheet of notebook paper containing his lyrics to "Evergreen", so sappy and romantic it just might hit the charts the day it came out. Looking at his favourite part of the song, Jack couldn't help but smile.

_When we kiss, it fills me up with cheer_

_Lets me know you'll be with me all through the year_

_Don't care where I'm goin', 'cause I love where I've been_

_Baby, I'll be your evergreen_

What he loved most was the line "Don't care where I'm goin', 'cause I love where I've been", though the need for rhyming would require Jack change how he sang the word "been". That spoke volumes about the sweet, adventurous side of Jack- the one that if anything saw bullying weaker kids as a waste of time. Plus, he knew he'd never want that one girl- the one "Evergreen" said he knew, though in reality he'd never met- to see him like he was when he laid into Zero just because. Jack didn't want anybody he loved to see him that way.

So why did he do it?

Jack shook the question off as soon as it came; that was a question for another time. He turned his mind back to this song he secretly wanted to sing before an audience of thousands, dressed like the star he was and with all the technological wonders of the 21st century backing him up, just making Jack's star shine even more.

What would he call himself when his name hit the world stage? Jack? J. Merridew? JM?

Yes. Jack liked that one best. He'd use his first and last name most of the time, of course… but other times, he'd just be JM. That sounded like a name his agent- and he would need one- would love.

A hand set on his shoulder, and Jack turned and looked up just as Zigzag snatched the paper out of his hands, sitting down on the porch with a bemused look on his face. "Man, Jack, when I see you smiling like that I know you're thinking about some shit like this."

Jack grabbed for the paper, his face tinged with pink; he hadn't realised he'd been smiling at all, let alone with that distant, sweet and romantic look on his face. It was a look girls would have surely loved- and girls you wanted to stay with, even, and not just love on Friday nights- but one that had no place at Camp Green Lake, Texas. There were previous few girls here.

Zigzag just leaned away, though, smirking a little. He continued reading the paper, and finally Jack gave up, fuming a little as he waited for his friend to finish. Finally, Zigzag handed it back.

"Well?" Jack asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

"It just might work," Zigzag said thoughtfully; Jack was thankful he'd chosen this as a time to be serious. Then Zigzag pointed at the paper, tapping it once as Jack looked at it again. "I'd hold onto that, man."

"You think so?" Jack asked.

"Sure," Zigzag said. "Not a lot of guys gonna like that song, but girls- they'll probably love it."

It was late in the evening, well after dinnertime; the sun was going down over the desert.

Gazing over at the lyrics on the page again, Zigzag thought not only of those, but of all the rest he'd seen Jack write. Jack, when nobody else was around, talked constantly of getting out of here and showing the world what he was made of. He was gonna aim high in life, living fast and hard for as long as he could. Sometimes Zigzag wondered if Jack knew he might be headed for an early grave- but then he realised Jack probably didn't care. If it meant going out doing something he loved, he'd probably prefer it, even.

Zigzag looked at Jack briefly, noticing the faraway look in the blonde's icy blue eyes as he gazed off towards the amber sunset. The taller boy laughed a little, and Jack looked at him, startled. "You great big pile a' nothin'," Zigzag laughed. "Richie Rich. Cool-Heel Jack."

"I don't think those names're gonna sell many albums, man," Jack laughed, smiling shyly.

Zigzag smiled, too, but suddenly sobered. He was glad to be the friend of someone so talented, someone with a clear future beyond Camp Green Lake and the mistakes that had brought him here. Zigzag, and so many of the others- they weren't so lucky.

"Zig," Jack said quietly, "You all right, man?"

"I don't know, dude," Zigzag said, shaking his head and wishing this feeling would go away. "I just don't know."

Jack's normal way of doing things- his solemn refusal to just about ever be serious- faded away with surprising speed. He folded up the paper and pocketed it, thinking in silence for a few moments.

"So!" Jack said after a minute or two had passed, feeling a little awkward about trying to restart the conversation- but knowing he had to do it. "So," Jack said again, "You've got seven months left."

Zigzag nodded, still looking out towards the sunset. "Seven months, one week, three days."

"Well," Jack said uncertainly, "What are you gonna do once you get out? Once I'm outta here, you'll just have four weeks. A cake walk, man. So what's next?"

Zigzag laughed suddenly, a bitter sound with no humour in it. "Oh, I don't know. Guess I'll just wave a wand. Get my parents to stop fighting and my granddad to come back."

Jack paused uncertainly. "Well… where'd he go?"

"Chestnut Hill Cemetery."

The blonde halted suddenly. "I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Zigzag turned and looked at him, his face tense and bitter. "No, you wouldn't, would you, Richie?"

Jack blushed furiously and looked away. For just a moment he saw himself the way Zigzag had to see him; as the token rich white boy, the kid for whom someone was always there to open the necessary doors. He'd made some mistakes, sure, otherwise he wouldn't be here… but there were always more dollars. Jack had all that waiting for him, and plenty more; Zigzag had a house that was barely holding itself together. He'd be lucky if his parents hadn't divorced by the time he came back. As far as Zigzag was concerned, Jack realised, there was nothing Richie Rich didn't have.

The taller boy seemed to realise he'd said too much, setting a hand on the blonde's bony shoulder. "Richie, I didn't mean- oh, _hell_. I don't know _what_ I meant."

Jack stared at the dirt. "It's okay, man."

Absentmindedly, Jack set a hand over the one Zigzag had on his shoulder. The two sat like that for a few moments. Jack, still unable to meet his friend's eyes, looked at the ground and said quietly, "Everything's gonna be all right, man."

Zigzag cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very moved. He wasn't sure what to say.

Boots tramping across the dusty ground; Mr. Sir was passing by, on his way back to his cabin with a six-pack of beers. He glanced their way and halted, looking at the two boys oddly. "You boys wanna start with that crap, we better get some girls in here," he said, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ." He walked off, giving them another weird look as he walked away.

Jack and Zigzag both blushed beet red and moved away from each other. The lanky blonde finally stood up and smiled a little, motioning for Zigzag to follow him. "Come on, Zig," he said, "Let's go find Squid and the three of us can tell the Yanks in this camp all 'bout how the South's gonna rise again!"

"Hell yeah!" Zigzag said, mimicking the exaggerated Deep South accent Jack was suddenly using. The moment, whatever it had been, had passed- for now, Zigzag knew he'd be fine. He and Jack headed back to D Tent, occupied enough with their own thoughts that they even paid no attention to Stanley and Zero, who were still working on the last of a day's reading lessons. Well, almost none.

Jack stopped by Stanley's cot, looking at him with a slight mocking smile on his face. He remembered, then, the assistance Zero had begun giving to Stanley with the digging today. "Hey, Caveman," Jack said without preamble. "It must be nice having your own personal slave, huh?"

"Come on, dude," Stanley said uneasily. "It's just an agreement."

"I wouldn't know," Jack said, studying his fingernails for dirt. They had no dirt, but plenty of dust. That damned Texas dust was everywhere. "My family _used_ to own slaves," Jack said lazily, "But then they made that illegal. Lucky _you_, huh?"

Not waiting for a reply, Jack glanced over at Zero. "_Alors, idiot_?" he said in French, then walked over to his own cot at the far end of the tent. True to his word, Jack flopped down on his bed and struck up a cheery conversation with Zigzag and Squid about how the South was gonna rise again- this time with Maryland on the right side, with Armpit promising them all grievous bodily harm if they didn't stop "rappin' that racist bullshit." He was only half-serious, though, so the banter kept up all the way to lights out.


	16. Chapter 16- Hand To Hand

**Chapter XVI- Hand To Hand**

* * *

The fifteenth day since Stanley's arrival was a little different from the rest, right from the start. Jack, speaking in an exaggerated drawl, asked where the Caveman had gotten such a fine slave. His eyes glinted with malice as he said this, casting his eyes over at Zero, who for just an instant glared back.

When they headed out to the lake bed, Jack kept it up, sarcastically bowing to Stanley and asking forgiveness of the "massa". The other boys let it go, laughing now and then; clearly none of them were on Stanley's side. There seemed to be a generally cold attitude from the rest of D Tent over the latest events; nobody cared that Zero was only _helping_ Stanley, and even then in exchange for Stanley teaching him how to read. Everybody had heard that, but what they cared about was that Caveman was no longer digging his hole by himself.

Lunchtime brought the next step in the process of that day's events, though nobody quite saw it until it was already there. Dr. Pendanski drove out in the water truck, lining the D Tent boys up to refill their canteens and then receive their lunch rations.

"Hey," Armpit called with heavy sarcasm as he passed by, "Where's your _whip_, Caveman? Don't want your slave to be slackin' off."

"It's not _slavery_!" Stanley called back, "It's an _agreement_!"

"Yeah, man, whatever."

"_C'est ca_," Jack added, shaking his head in disgust. Even he- Jack Merridew, AKA Richie Rich- never had anyone help him with his digging. That was one thing Jack always made a point of doing himself here. He'd never even asked anyone to help him, nor had he even considered it. Jack had gone home many- many- of his first days with bruises and blisters, and had learned to do the first real manual labor of his life the hard way. It was a matter of some pride for him now. And yet, here was the new guy, two weeks at Camp Green Lake, taking on help. It was

"Line 'em up!" Dr. Pendanski called. "We have- bologna and cheese, apples, and graham crackers!"

"_Pommes_?" Jack laughed. "_Pommes et _cookies?"

Zigzag shook his head, shrugging. "_C'est ca_."

"This is America! We speak English!"

"_No habla, senor_," Magnet said.

As the line moved along, Dr. Pendanski greeted each of the boys cheerfully. "Hello, Theodore!"

Armpit grunted. "I told you, man; it's Armpit."

Casting a quick glance Dr. Pendanski's way, Squid snatched a handful of graham crackers, hiding them behind his back as he moved past Dr. Pendanski, who called out, "Hello, Alan!"

Squid, for once, smiled back and said smoothly, "Good day to you."

"Ricky."

"Sir."

Magnet started to argue with Dr. Pendanski, using more and more Spanish with each word. "You only get one sandwich!" Dr. Pendanski said.

"_Yo quiero _dos_, pendejo_!" Magnet complained.

"We are not in France, Spain, or anywhere else! This is America, and we use one language here: English!"

Magnet took the one sandwich and wandered back to his hole, cursing in Spanish the whole way.

Jack was just walking back to his own hole when Squid elbowed him lightly. "Look," he said with a sly grin, "I got some extra crackers!"

The lanky blonde smiled; he was feeling a little generous today. "See everybody gets one," he said, taking an extra two for himself as Squid started to move off. Jack then spotted Stanley, and immediately felt a rush of anger; he and Zero were sitting near each other, and he'd seen the two of them working together on Stanley's hole, just like yesterday. It was clear enough this was something that wasn't just gonna go away. But then Jack realised- he was the one in a position to do something about it.

"Hey!"

Stanley looked up as Jack stood over him, emphasizing his word with a sharp kick. Seeing he had Stanley's attention, Jack held out the extra graham crackers he'd gotten from Squid. "How about I give you _my_ cookies, and you let _me_ dig your hole?"

Stanley, sitting up near his hole, shrugged and went on eating his apple. He was hoping the boy standing in front of him would go away.

The blonde leader of D Tent crouched, holding out the three graham crackers. "Come on," he said, his face grim and his voice devoid of humour. "Take it."

Stanley looked at him and held up a hand, trying to be conciliatory. "Look, I get it, all right? I'll dig my own hole from now on. Lemme eat my lunch."

A few feet away, unnoticed by most anyone else, Zero was watching intently, his eyes narrowed. Jack's eyes flicked briefly towards Zero, but he dismissed the smaller boy without a thought.

_Fuckit_, Jack thought, He's _a loser. Not like _he's_ about to get in my way_.

An instant later the lanky blonde's eyes were back on Stanley. He stood up, laughing in feigned amusement. He glanced around at the other D Tent boys- his audience, chuckling. "He doesn't want the cookies!" Jack said, as if he just couldn't believe it. Then he crouched in front of Stanley again.

Jack shoved the cookies in Stanley's face. "Here," he said harshly, "_eat the cookies_."

Stanley smacked Jack's hand away, and a chorus of "Ohh!" went up. Jack's pulse quickened and he shoved Stanley with one hand, standing up. The newer boy rose to meet him, his face tense with sudden anger. He pushed back. "Back off, man!"

"What?" Jack said, a mocking smile on his face. "I don't think I heard you right. Are you telling _me_ to back off?"

"Yeah, I am!" Stanley shot back, holding his ground.

Jack just laughed, smiling as if amused- and this time, he was. This was funny; that's what this was. Cocking his head to the side, he said in a voice made all the more dangerous by the fact that he was smiling warmly, "And… what happens, if I don't feel like backing off just yet?"

Stanley's eyes narrowed and he moved forward to push Jack again, but Jack had expected that. He darted to the right and sucker-punched Stanley in the stomach, forcing his breath out of him in a rush. Stanley fell to one knee hard, and Jack stood over him, smirking. "I _told_ you I was gonna remember you, Caveman," Jack said with cold, vicious glee. "You shoulda _known_ not to-"

"Hey! Hey!" Dr. Pendanski called, hurrying over from the truck. "What's going on here?"

Jack's gleeful look vanished and he took a step back from Stanley as Squid and Zigzag moved in as well. "Nothin', Mom, we was just playin'," Squid said.

"Yeah," Zigzag agreed. "Just playin'. Foolin' around and stuff."

But Dr. Pendanski wasn't fooled; he kept his eyes on the would-be combatants. "Oh, I saw what happened," he said. "I saw what was going on." His voice serious now, Dr. Pendanski looked at Stanley, who had gotten up and was facing Jack with a matter-of-fact, stubborn defiance that had been in the Yelnats family for generations. He'd lost every fight he'd ever been in- but as a Yelnats, Stanley knew better than to run away from one.

Then Dr. Pendanski glanced at Jack, who looked remarkably calm for the circumstances. He was looking at Stanley hungrily- almost like a wolf, eying fresh prey in the distance. "You scared, Jack?" he asked.

The lanky blonde snorted, laughing a little. "He _wishes_," Jack hissed, staring straight at Stanley.

Dr. Pendanski nodded, as if he'd expected this. He turned to Stanley, stepping away. "Well, go on, Stanley," the camp counselor said. "Teach Richie a lesson. Hit 'im back."

"Yeah," Jack echoed, mocking Stanley with each word, "Let's see what you've got, _Yelnats_. Teach me a _lesson_."

When Stanley failed to move first, Jack took a step towards him, shoving Stanley back a few steps. "I'm gonna put you in your _place_, Yelnats!" Jack yelled, his voice steadily rising in fury. "I'm sick of your shit and so's my gang!"

Stanley stared at Jack, angry and incredulous. "_Your_ gang?" he echoed in disbelief. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Jack jabbed Stanley hard in the chest with a finger, screaming now. "What it _means_, Yelnats, is that if you know what's good for you you'll _start_ listening when I'm _talking to you_!" He shoved Stanley again, sending him stumbling backwards. Something flashed angrily in Stanley's eyes; he recovered and moved in, doing the first thing that came to his mind.

He slapped Jack across the face. Hard.

The blonde hadn't been expecting that; he fell back a few steps, touching a hand to the stinging left side of his face.

"Oh!"

"Whoah!"

"Gonna feel _that_ in the morning!"

Now Jack looked at Stanley with something very much like hatred. Stanley had just embarrassed him in a way few had ever dared to try; he'd done it publicly, before a whole crowd of witnesses. And these were his boys, D Tent- and there in the background was that fucking loser Zero! Jack's eyes were nearly blinded by fury; he dug his heels into the hard ground and dove at Stanley, tackling him with only minimal effort.

Stanley raised his hands to shove Jack away, but he moved too slowly, not yet realizing that rapid, hard-hitting surprise attacks were what Jack specialized in. Unlike Stanley, he'd had years of training with private instructors on unarmed fighting. And also unlike Stanley, Jack had won more than a few of the fights he'd been in on the schoolyard basketball court and baseball field.

Immediately after the two crashed to the ground, Jack raised himself up and balled his hands into fists, slamming them home as quick and hard as he could. Stanley raised his arms and fought to push Jack off, but the blonde, though thin and bony, was almost all muscle, and so batted away Stanley's efforts with ease. Anger and adrenaline pulsed through him, urging him on; Jack felt like he was starting to go wild, hoping he'd start breaking bones.

_Pow_! Jack's vision suddenly went white; Stanley had found a small rock and smacked Jack in the head with it. He cried out, and in the instant he recoiled Stanley threw Jack off him. The lanky blonde just rolled to his feet and kicked Stanley hard in the chest, shoving Stanley back into his hole.

Panting hard, his whole form dusty and sweaty, Jack laughed. "Come on, Yelnats! Had _enough_?"

Apparently not, because Stanley pulled himself back out of his hole with startling speed, lowering his head and crashing into Jack; the blonde boy went down with a surprised "Uh!" but rolled away quickly.

"All right, that's enough!" Dr. Pendanksi called anxiously, seeing this was clearly going farther than he'd intended.

Jack lashed out with a lightning-fast punch, striking Stanley in the stomach again and dropping him to his knees. The curly-haired boy in the red cap gasped hard, trying to recover, but Jack just moved around and kicked him hard in the ribs; Stanley dropped to the ground and didn't move.

"_Yaahhhh_!"

A small figure in orange work uniform jumped up from a nearby dirt pile, sprinting past everyone nearby and going straight for the tall, lanky blonde who was grinning sadistically as he stood over his opponent, planning one more good kick for- oh, just for, well, _kicks_.

Then Jack caught sight of the boy running towards him; he barely had time to notice who it was- and be very surprised by the realization- before the smaller boy slammed into him. The two crashed to the ground, Jack grunting hard as he hit the rock-like, bone-dry dirt.

Zero was over him, pinning him down; Jack struggled fiercely but Zero, his face contorted into a mask of powerful concentration and hate, jabbed both his hands down at the blonde's neck- and squeezed hard.

"That's enough!" Dr. Pendanski yelled.

Jack thrashed and kicked, his hands pulling at Zero's hands desperately. Air! He needed air! Spots of white, almost like static, began appearing in Jack's vision, and he began to hear the concerned shouting of the boys around him- and the yells of Dr. Pendanski- distantly, as if through a tunnel.

Suddenly, the blonde leader of D Tent's eyes went wide, and a horrible, cold fear surged into him.

_He's trying to kill me_!

Truly afraid now, Jack bucked and fought like a demon, but the hands gripping his throat never let up. Zero was still over him, his face the very picture of grim, relentless determination. Jack began to panic.

Seeing the increasingly frantic efforts of Jack- who, mystifyingly, was unable to fight Zero off- the other boys' past looks of amusement vanished; now they looked down at the scene with concern, even alarm.

"Hey! Cut it out, man!" Squid cried.

"Hey- hey, _stop_, Zero!" Armpit shouted.

"That's enough!" Dr. Pendanski yelled, but nobody was paying attention to him anymore.

Down on the ground, Jack was fighting with everything he had, rolling left and right in an effort to shake Zero off, but the smaller boy hung on with everything he had- which was a lot more than anybody had thought. Jack began making some truly horrible choking and gagging noises, his quest for air becoming far more than merely desperate.

Zigzag rushed in, motioning for Armpit to help him. The tall boy with the frazzled, light brown hair grabbed Zero's hands, wrenching them off Jack's neck- Armpit grabbed Zero and pulled him away in a bear-hug.

BAM!

A single shotgun blast boomed across the lake bed; everyone froze where they were and turned to look. Dr. Pendanski was standing a few feet away, a shotgun in his hands- he had just fired it into the air.

"Now, that's ENOUGH!" he roared, truly furious. "When I say end something, I don't mean 'when you feel like it'! I mean END IT!"

Jack gasped loudly, taking in a breath of air and immediately coughing as his damaged throat rejected it. He rolled over on all fours, gagging, gasping and retching over the hard ground. His face was tired and scared; the fight in him was gone. All the tall blonde could think about anymore was air, air, air. God, did his throat hurt.

The boys separated the combatants; Zigzag and Squid moved to Jack's side and helped him stand; he put a hand to his throat, gingerly touching it. "Christ," Jack gasped, and was immediately shocked by how unlike himself he sounded. His voice sounded tired, strained…

Like a boy who'd just lost.

_My God, _Jack thought with fear_, I'm _losing! _No- worse. I _lost!

Distantly, he was aware of Zero, who had gotten up and looked defiantly at Dr. Pendanski after the shotgun blast, helping Stanley up. "Come on, Stanley."

The close allies of the fighters ushered them away from each other, Jack's best two friends helping him stay on his feet while Zero helped Stanley walk off the worst done by the fight.

Finally, Jack got enough air that he felt at least steady on his feet. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" he said, pushing Squid and Zigzag off him. "Ah. I'm _fine_."

The two boys looked at him skeptically; Jack's voice sounded strained for sure. "You don't _sound_ fine," Zigzag said, his face etched with concern.

Unsurprisingly, Dr. Pendanski took out his radio and called the Warden- she and Mr. Sir were out at D Tent's dig site just minutes later.


	17. Chapter 17- Had Enough

**Chapter XVII- Had Enough**

* * *

"Basically," Dr. Pendanski said, "Zero almost killed Jack!"

The Warden nodded under her wide-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses. "Basically?"

"Uh," Armpit said, "Richie was beatin' up the Caveman, right? And then Zero started choking Richie. Me and Ziggy _had_ to pull Zero off of him!"

The Warden gazed at Armpit for a moment, then took a few steps and stared at Zigzag. "Well?"

Zigzag was holding his shovel, looking weary and drained under the blazing sun. "Armpit said it right, ma'am," he said with a slight shrug. That's how it happened. We're out in the hot sun all day, I guess the blood starts to boil sometimes."

The Warden then turned to Jack, who looked tired and weak; he was standing to Zigzag's left, an arm on the taller boy's shoulder as he leaned on him for support. "How about you, Richie?" she demanded, her voice clearly telling the blonde she was in no mood for bullshit. "What do you say?"

Jack carefully paused to take in a breath; it hurt a little. He didn't like this. "It was like Zigzag and Armpit said," he said softly. "Workin' all day out in the hot sun," he tossed a hand at Caveman, only glancing at him for a moment, "you know, Caveman just sits around and does nothing."

"Excuse me?" the Warden said, her voice written with disbelief. "Caveman digs his hole just like everyone else."

"Sometimes," Jack said hoarsely.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Ma'am," Squid said carefully, "Zero's been diggin' a part of Stanley's hole every day."

The Warden looked back at Jack, who was breathing carefully, feeling grateful that he could still feel the breeze blowing cool across his face in the heat. He suddenly had an appreciation for oxygen he'd never quite had before.

"Richie," she said in genuine puzzlement, "What's wrong with your voice?"

"Zero tried to choke him, ma'am," Squid said before Jack could say anything. "He went after Richie like he was tryin' to kill 'im."

The Warden stood with her hands on her hips, glancing at Jack again. "Richie- is somethin' wrong with your voice? Can you talk right, or are you whisperin' like that to be funny?"

Jack shook his head. "No, ma'am. My throat hurts. I dunno what happened…" he trailed off. "I'm not sure."

The Warden stared, clearly surprised; Jack dropped his eyes to the ground, his face pink with embarrassment. He was starting to feel like he had- beyond any doubt- just gotten his ass kicked by the loser of D Tent. It was shameful, a defeat like he'd never known. He could barely live with himself now.

"All right," the Warden said, for once a little uncertain. "We'll have to deal with this in a minute." By that she meant Jack was just gonna have to shut up and wait; for his part, the lanky blonde was all too happy to do so. Talking hurt all of a sudden, and he was wondering why that was.

Jack felt a little scared.

In the silence, Mr. Sir turned on Stanley. "You don't like diggin' holes? Ain't good enough for ya?" he yelled, moving in and staring down at Stanley.

Backing up a little, Stanley said, "I'm-I'm teaching him how to read."

"Come again?" Mr. Sir said, blinking and trying to conceal his surprise as the Warden approached.

"He's a smart kid!" Stanley said, and Dr. Pendanski scoffed.

"_Smart_?" the counselor said, not even bothering to hide how ridiculous he thought the idea was. He looked at Zero, who stood near Stanley, saying nothing. "All right. What does C-A-T spell?" Dr. Pendanski looked expectantly at Zero, who looked back at him but didn't reply. "Well? What's that spell?" When Zero still didn't reply, Dr. Pendanski laughed. "Oh, yeah- he's real _smart_! A genius! He's so stupid, he don't even know he's _stupid_!"

The Warden sighed irritably. "Okay," she said, glaring around behind her sunglasses, "From now on, I don't want _anyone_ diggin' _anyone_ else's holes!"

She stared Stanley, removing her glasses. "And no more readin' lessons."

"Why?" Stanley asked. "The hole gets dug, who cares who's diggin' it, right?"

"You know why you're diggin' holes?" Mr. Sir yelled, jabbing a finger at Stanley. "Cause it's good for ya! Teaches ya a lesson!"

The Warden stared coldly at Stanley. "If Zero digs your hole for you, you're not learnin' your lesson, _are_ you?"

"Yeah," Mr. Sir said. "Plain and simple."

"Well," Stanley said carefully, "Why can't I just dig my own hole and still teach him how to read?"

The Warden took a step towards Stanley, staring him down. "Because I said so."

"We know you mean well, Stanley," Dr. Pendanski said, "But the mental stress causes his brain too much of a challenge. _That's_ what made his blood boil- not the hot sun!"

"I'm not diggin' any more holes," Zero said suddenly.

The Warden nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

Dr. Pendanski turned to Zigzag, taking the shovel and holding it up to the others. "I mean, you might as well teach this shovel to read!" He tossed the shovel to Zero, who caught it easily, looking slowly back up at the counselor. "Go on, Zero! Take it," Dr. Pendanski said, a mocking smile on his face. "It's all you'll ever be good for."

Behind the counselor, Jack heard all this and just stayed right where he was, not speaking a word. He wasn't so sure about Zero anymore. He'd met a dozen losers at every school he'd been to- even got kicked out once, for beating up one of them. Well, for doing it and getting _caught_. Jack was a winner- so what the hell did it mean if he lost to a loser?

Dr. Pendanski, on the other hand, had no doubts. Apparently, not even Zero's attack on Richie Rich could alter his attitude; but then again, Dr. Pendanski hadn't been the one who just got decked by Hector friggin' Zeroni.

"D-I-G!" Dr. Pendanski said, as if he was talking to a small child, and one who wasn't very bright at that. "_What's_ that spell?"

Zero stood silent for a moment, looking down at the shovel as if thinking about something. Then he looked up, and swung the shovel in a wide arc- right into Dr. Pendanski's face.


	18. Chapter 18- Zero's Flight

**Chapter XVIII- Zero's Flight**

* * *

Dr. Pendanski dropped to the ground without a sound; in an instant it was obvious he was out cold. Zero stood over him for just a moment, then bent over and shouted one word into Dr. Pendanski's face. "DIG!"

Then Zero turned and bolted past the water truck, running for the mountains in the horizon and nimbly dodging dirt piles and holes as he went. Mr. Sir began to give chase, instinctively snatching his revolver out of its holster.

The D Tent boys stared after him, incredulous; Jack was wide-eyed, barely able to believe what he'd just seen minutes ago, and was seeing now. First Zero had tried to kill Jack, and now he was gonna try and kill himself. Where had all this come from?

"Go Zero!" Stanley shouted, pumping a fist in the air. "_Go_!"

"_Don't shoot_!" the Warden shouted at Mr. Sir, who stopped and turned back. "You thought I was gonna _shoot_ 'im?"

"He can't _go_ anywhere!" the Warden said, striding towards Mr. Sir with her hands on her hips.

"What? Why would I shoot 'im?" Mr. Sir said, still dumbfounded. "I mean, what are the bullets _for_?"

The Warden looked at him irritably. "The last thing we need, is an investigation," she snapped.

"Fine, then!" Mr. Sir exclaimed sarcastically. "Misinterpretation! Let him go, then! Let him go!" He turned and waved sarcastically at the quickly-shrinking form of Zero. "See you, Zero! Ain't gonna be no One!"

"I want 24-hour guards on all water sources!" the Warden said, turning back to her car. She stopped, looking at Jack. "We'll call somebody to see about your voice," she said, rather matter-of-factly. Distantly, Jack wondered if she really meant it. Anywhere else he wouldn't have worried. Around _here_…

The Warden then walked past the blonde and the other D Tent boys, stopping by Stanley. She looked at him pointedly. "I still expect a hole every day," she said, and got back in the white DeSoto.

Mr. Sir picked up Zero's canteen- filled with water, he had ditched it in the fight with Jack. He unscrewed its cap, walked over to Dr. Pendanski, and poured the water out on his face.

"Uh…" Dr. Pendanski muttered distantly, "I'll have the chicken tenders, Warden?"


	19. Chapter 19- Return to Camp

**Chapter XIX- Return to Camp**

* * *

The boys were brought back from the lake early that day; no one complained. Squid and Zigzag kept close to Jack, somehow feeling uneasy about the blonde's safety even though Zero was gone. Jack said nothing to Stanley that afternoon- as a matter of fact, he barely said anything at all. The two boys trailed here and there around the camp, each preoccupied with his own troubled thoughts. Neither one had anything to say to the other.

When they locked eyes once, passing in front of the Wreck Room, Stanley's brown were both angry and sorrowful. He knew Zero had essentially just thrown his life away, and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. What could he do, besides go running into the desert and die himself?

But the anger in Stanley's eyes, dulled as it was, certainly was reserved for the lanky blonde who had named himself D Tent's leader. As they passed in front of the Wreck Room- Jack still flanked by his two friends, Squid and Zigzag, who nodded to Stanley but eyed him warily- Jack could tell Stanley held him responsible. Well, him and Dr. Pendanski. They'd pushed Zero anytime they wanted; pushed and even shoved sometimes, confident that Zero would never push back. But like some very unlucky bullies before them- boys and adults- Jack and Dr. Pendanski had both learned today than even a Zero was capable of fighting back. That they had refused to see this coming- or give Zero any kind of respect- infuriated Stanley.

The truce held until dinner. Stanley sat at the far end of the table- oddly enough, right where Zero had once sat.

Zero should have been here tonight, Stanley thought bitterly, and threw a glare at Jack, who still sat at the head of the table. Jack just stared back, his face blank- but his eyes were troubled. He looked away after a few moments, turning back to a conversation with Armpit and Zigzag, making a clear effort to speak in that hoarse, strained voice.

Back in D Tent that night, the conversation immediately turned to Zero. What else was there to talk about?

"Man," Armpit said as he shook his head in dismay, "if he isn't back by morning, he's _dead_."

"Yeah," Squid nodded, "In a day or two _tops_, his bones are gonna be bleachin' in the sun."

"He's dead either way," Jack said hoarsely. "If he stays out there, he dies. If he comes back, the Warden kills him." The blonde shook his head, not at all feeling himself- but sure, quite sure, about Zero's impending fate.

Stanley had been lying on his cot facing the door, trying to keep his ears off the talking and his eyes off Zero's empty bed. But something about the flat sound of Jack's voice- and not just its abnormal hoarseness- stirred anger in him. Stanley sat up and turned around, glaring across the tent at the blonde boy who was sitting on his own cot, at the other end of the room.

"It's all the same to you, isn't it?" Stanley said, the disgust plain in his voice. He shook his head, appalled at how uncaring Jack seemed to be. Not just sometimes, but all the time. "Do you care about _anybody_, man? Is _everything_ just a game to you?"

The blonde glared at Stanley under the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, rolling to his feet and sitting up.

"Listen," Jack said harshly, wincing at the pain he felt in his throat as he struggled- yes, struggled- to talk at a regular room level, "I know nothing about Zero personally. How could I give a _shit_ either way? What he did today, I didn't make him do. He ran out there, and he signed his _own_ death warrant!"

Stanley stared; he could hardly believe this. "You treat him like shit and then say it's not your fault? How can you-"

Jack stood up, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You- fuckit, man! _Fuckit_!" Jack grabbed a towel off his cot, slinging it about his bare shoulders and storming around the cots and toward the door. "You've done enough, Caveman," Jack hissed, his eyes watering at the pain it cost him to speak at a raised level. "You've done enough."

He stomped out of the tent; the patter of his feet said he was headed for the showers.

The tent was silent for perhaps a minute; finally, Stanley lay back down and made sure the rest of the guys saw him going to sleep. Zigzag finally sighed, standing up when Jack still didn't return after a few minutes. "I'd better go find 'im," he said wearily. "Gotta see if he's okay."

Passing by Stanley's cot, Zigzag hesitated, then set a hand on Stanley's shoulder for a moment. He knew Stanley couldn't be asleep yet. "Stanley," Zigzag said quietly, "I'm sorry, man."

Zigzag then headed out into the dark, and behind him he could hear the boys resume talking. "Man," Armpit said, "Ziggys' gonna have to find the Godfather. That boy is hurtin', dudes."

"Godfather?" Squid drawled. "Who's the Godfather?"

"It's Richie," Armpit said, like it was obvious. "He sure don't sound like Richie no more. Sounds like that dude from that mob movie, always whisperin' and shit."

"Yeah," Magnet said solemnly, "Zero's wanderin' the set of some cowboy movie, and Godfather's gotta talk with his top man. Cowboys with shovels and white boys who talk like mobsters. This is a weird movie, hombres."

Zigzag found Jack at the showers, much like he'd figured he would. The blonde stood in one of the stalls, gingerly rubbing his throat and aiming his face up at the cold spray of water. As Zigzag approached, he could have sworn he heard a sound he'd never heard out of the boss of D Tent before.

It sounded like Jack was crying.

Zigzag rapped his knuckles on one of the empty stalls as he stood nearby, leaning up against it. Jack's head whipped in that direction, and for a moment his eyes were wide in fear- it was the look of a boy reduced to prey, one who now just wanted, very badly, to be alone. And now, more than he ever was normally, the lanky blonde was deeply afraid of embarrassment.

After a moment of peering into the dark, though, Jack's eyes discerned the identity of the tall, lean boy in the orange uniform. "Oh," Jack breathed, sounding relieved, "It's you, Zig. Hey, man,"

The shower kept running; Jack's chest hitched once and he blushed; it hitched twice and he turned away, embarrassed.

"Jack," Zigzag said gently, taking a risk and using his friend's real name, "You okay, man?"

The blonde boy didn't answer; he just stood there under the water. Then he stood aside, quickly drying himself and holding the towel up under the stream; once it was soaked, he wrung it out a bit and wrapped it around his neck.

The water shut off.

Jack refused to look at Zigzag, pulling his briefs and orange work pants back on. He sat down on the edge of the wooden platform, staring into the dark as his shoulders shook now and then, and his chest hitched.

Zigzag walked slowly over towards his friend. He knew his friend was feeling down right now- more so than he'd ever seen him. Perhaps, more down than Jack had ever been in his life. He didn't just seem sad, perhaps even miserable- he was frightened. Truly scared.

The taller boy with the frazzled, light brown hair sat down beside his friend. For a time, they were both quiet. Jack went on trying to act like he wasn't crying, and he went on failing to do it.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Zigzag asked, looking at Jack; he felt a tremor of fear. Was Jack not gonna be able to talk now? And if he couldn't talk- well, if he couldn't _talk_…

Jack could have plucked the thought from his best friend's mind. "Worse," he said in a strained voice, one that said he was barely holding back a lot more tears than he was shedding now. The boy with the pale, pointed face only slowly turning a nice tan in the Texas desert looked at his friend, his face a picture of fright and misery.

"Ricky," Jack said in a trembling voice, "I can't _sing_."

Then he put his head in his hands and bawled.

Zigzag hesitated for a moment, then put an arm around the blonde's bony shoulders. Jack's shoulders shook as he sobbed, trying his best to be quiet about it; he did not even want to imagine the shame he'd face if anyone saw him here, saw him like this. But he didn't move away. Jack cried, and Zigzag kept his arm around his best friend's shoulder, not knowing what to say but hoping his being here would be enough.

He doubted it.


	20. Chapter 20- The FNG

**Chapter XX- The FNG**

* * *

The next day began slowly, and not just for Stanley; Jack barely made it out of his bed in time for morning roll call, preferring to take just as much time as he could to moan and lie back with a wet towel about his throat. He had no idea if that even helped, but it made him feel a little better, at least.

Jack's voice problems had grown a world worse overnight- he discovered, come breakfast, that he could only speak in a whisper, which might as well have been not talking at all. The D Tent boys must have been overheard at some point, because when Jack passed by F Tent on his way to the Library that morning, somebody called, "Hey! Hey, man, it's Don Corleone! It's the Godfather!"

"Hey, Godfather, ain't you gonna _say somethin'_?"

Jack just strode onward, his face reddening as the catcalls went on. Nobody from D Tent joined in, but they couldn't think of how- or in some cases why- they should intervene. Only Zigzag consistently backed Jack up; as the day went on, he started staying by Jack almost constantly. He shared some of his water, as the blonde was drinking it much faster than he should have, likely hoping it would help. Zigzag also took on a new role; he became Jack's voice. Whenever someone asked Jack a question, or Dr. Pendanski or anyone else spoke to him, Jack would turn his head and whisper in Zigzag's ear. Zigzag would then talk for him, repeating whatever Jack had said.

The F Tent boys in particular thought this was pretty funny; C Tent was not much better. Jack, strangely, made no effort to fight them- he didn't even get angry about any of it. The fight had gone out of him. His normal energy- well above average, even for his age- was gone, taken away just like his voice. Stanley would see Jack staring blankly at the ground or at a wall now and then. The blonde headed out on the lake with the others that day, but his usual cheerful banter was gone; he never talked directly to anybody except Zigzag, and even then only rarely.

The D Tent boys as a whole had a lackluster day on the lake. There was no singing, no humming, no energy-packed Richie Rich to keep up the chatter as they worked. The day went slow.

Stanley was preoccupied with his own troubled thoughts, as was Jack. Each boy felt occasional, fleeting wishes to show that he did, in fact, feel some sympathy for the other. But the fight they'd had- and Zero's running away soon afterwards- remained fresh in both their minds. They left each other alone, but neither boy said anything to the other. Each found, whenever he tried, that he didn't quite have the will to do it.

When they finally finished their digging and began to head home for the day, Stanley remained behind. Once all the others had gone, Stanley stood looking out over the desert, his eyes scanning the miles and miles of tan-white, sunbaked ground. "Zero!" Stanley shouted suddenly, cupping his hands to his mouth.

"ZERO"!"

Nothing.

Then, behind him in the distance but steadily getting closer, the sound of a vehicle- the growl of a diesel engine. Stanley turned in time to see an orange school bus with the black letters spelling TEXAS YOUTH AUTHORITY on the side, heading towards Camp Green Lake.

The new boy joined them at dinner; his brand-new orange prison uniform matched perfectly with his lively brown eyes and his babyish, round face. He was constantly jumping at even the smallest sounds, fidgeting with things, and when the boys had sat down with their trays, he kept drumming his fingers on the table.

"So what's your story?" Zigzag asked, sitting to Jack's left. Just then, Jack leaned in his ear, said something, and Zigzag glanced at the new boy again. "What's your story, Twitch?"

The new boy- Twitch- blinked and laughed a little. "Oh, uh- heh heh. Joyridin'." He blinked twice. At the head of the table, Jack was looking at Twitch with a sudden increase of interest. His own career at Camp Green Lake had begun with a joyride…

"I guess I never really meant to steal one or nothin'," Twitch said, fidgeting with his backwards-facing red-and-black cap, picking it up, and setting it down just as quick on his dark brown hair. "But, uh, when I walk past a really nice car-"he jumped a little for effect- "I just start twitchin', you know?" Catching the looks of the boys around him, Twitch chuckled. "Oh, you think I'm jumpy _now_? You should've seen me behind the wheel of that _Mustang convertible_!" Twitch laughed, smiling at the memory. "Whoo! _Vroom_, vroom."

"Did you wreck it?"

Twitch blinked twice, glancing at Zigzag. "Uh, what?"

Zigzag jerked his head towards Jack, who sat silently, looking intently at the new kid. "Godfather wants to know if you wrecked that car."

Twitch giggled. "Uh, heh, well… see, I- yeah." He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I did." Then he paused, looking at Zigzag in confusion. "Godfather?"

Zigzag nodded. "He strained his voice yelling at some stupid new guys yesterday," he said, watching Twitch wince a little. "So until he gets better, he's Godfather. He's the richest boy here. Sometimes we call him Richie Rich, or Cool-Heel Jack. But he's Godfather to you right now- you got that?"

The new boy twitched. "Uh, yep, yep, sure do," he said, and Jack smiled.

Armpit looked at the new kid. "You know how Godfather got sent to this place?"

"Uh, nope-nope."

"Well," Armpit said, "Godfather was hangin' out with his girl, right? And her father comes home, tries to kick his butt. Well, Godfather makes a run for it, steals the pizza boy's car when he comes up to this house down the street."

"Stole an '85 Plymouth," Squid said. "Took it past 85 on the highway. That's when he wrecked it, then got busted."

"Yeah, man," Magnet nodded. "By the Highway Patrol."

Twitch twitched, looking like he wanted to clap in excitement. "Woo! Plymouth, not a bad car. Nope-nope, not bad. _Vroom_, _vroom_. Highway Patrol, though, _that's_ hardcore. I just nose-dove that Mustang into a ditch, got busted by the county sheriff. Yeah."

Squid reached over and plucked the two slices of bread off Twitch's tray. "Now," he drawled, "you ain't been diggin' out in the hot sun all day… so you wouldn't mind givin' your bread to somebody who did, now, would you?"

The new kid looked like he wanted to say something, but just tap-danced his left hand's fingers on the table, his eyes darting about nervously. He could be calm enough normally, but whenever he got excited- or nervous- he twitched.

"Put 'em back, Squid."

Everybody stopped and stared- Jack, hoarsely speaking in a whisper, had raised his voice a tiny bit to be heard. Squid, who had been halfway to handing the bread to Jack, halted, confused. "But, you _said_-"

"Godfather doesn't need more bread, Squid," Jack said with a wry smile. "Godfather needs a drink. He needs rest. The new guy keeps his bread today."

Squid stared for a moment, but Jack just nodded slightly, his face impassive. Finally, he tossed the bread back, shaking his head in confusion.

Zigzag looked at Jack uncertainly, not liking the idea of Jack putting extra stress on his voice. He had- what was it, laryngitis? - bad, and Zigzag did not want it getting any worse. God alone knew how bad it was already, how much damage Zero's hands had done. And with so many days left under the hot sun, out on the dry lake with precious little water and all that dust blowing around…

But Jack waved him down, calm and composed for the first time since before his fight with Stanley. He looked at the new kid. "D Tent are the best diggers here," he said hoarsely, keeping his voice low. "You will learn to do everything you do here from us, and better than the other tents."

"Eat, sleep, piss," Zigzag said, nodding.

"Jerk off," Squid added, and they laughed.

Pointing around the table, Jack said quietly, "These are Squid, Zigzag, Armpit, and the Caveman."

Each of them nodded greetings to Twitch, who twitched a nod of sorts in return.

"No other tent in this camp can do what we do," Jack whispered. "D Tent are the asskickers."

"Oh," Twitch said, laughing a little. "Heh. Never kicked any, uh, _asses_ before, but I guess there's always a first time, right? Heh heh."

Jack smiled. He nodded, looking around at the other boys at the table. "Godfather approves, gentlemen."

The boys of D Tent- even Stanley- felt heartened by Jack's cheering up a bit, and choosing to actively accept, even embrace his new name. The lanky blonde was surprisingly adaptable. He still was only a shadow of his normal self, and his concern over the loss of his voice was plain. But at the very least, Jack was managing to find ways to take his mind off that problem- of only for a short time.

Stanley took no part in the conversation at dinner, and he paid only scant attention as the new boy was given his tour of the camp and taken to D Tent, dropping off his things at Zero's old cot. Stanley- and all the rest of D Tent- did, however, gape in amazement when he saw who was leading Twitch on his tour of Camp Green Lake. Since Twitch had arrived so late in the day, Dr. Pendanski was in his cabin soon after dinner, as were the Warden and Mr. Sir. Instead, Jack was leading the tour, pointing and gesturing while Zigzag did the talking.

"Dude," Magnet said as he watched the three passing by the showers, "Tell me how this makes sense."

"Maybe Godfather's gonna treat Twitch okay, man," Squid said speculatively.

Stanley, standing near them, said nothing for perhaps a full minute, then nodded. "Good." He said nothing else, though, and headed inside the tent. He was asleep well before lights out.


	21. Chapter 21- The Second Flight

**Chapter XXI- The Second Flight**

* * *

Day seventeen. For Stanley, that was the count. He'd been here two full weeks plus three days, and Zero had run away a full day ago. By even the most optimistic guesses, he would have two days, perhaps three- and then no more. The Texas heat was at its most brutal out here in the desert; it had no hesitation, no mercy for the tired, the weak, or the very, very thirsty.

Jack fell silent again after his speaking up yesterday at dinner; he was moody and withdrawn, seldom speaking- and even then, nearly always relying on Zigzag to do it. Power in D Tent had shifted somewhat towards the tall boy with the messy hair; as speaker for Jack, he was really the one in charge in the eyes of some. Jack no longer wanted to fight anybody, fearing someone might go for his throat; he no longer even had the ability to shout and make himself impossible to ignore. His voice was gone, and with it, much of his power to persuade and control others. It was very troubling for Jack. He was suddenly a boy with very little to say.

Stanley, for his part, liked that- preoccupied with his own troubles, Jack did nothing to antagonize the new kid, Twitch. Once in a while, Stanley wondered if Jack wasn't secretly afraid he had another Zero on his hands- that if he pushed Twitch around the same way he'd done to Zero, he'd receive another ass-kicking straight out of left field. It had taken time, but Stanley had finally realised- Jack wasn't truly devoid of the normal range of emotions, and he probably could feel remorse. But the blonde was good at compartmentalizing and shutting down his emotions if he wanted to- hence, he was easily able to bully others, like Zero, and not feel bad about it.

He was a moral coward too often, yet appeared to have high aspirations in life, and a desire to lend his own future fame and wealth to the elevation of the family name. Stanley couldn't allow himself to forget, either, how Jack had saved him from that yellow-spotted lizard- perhaps saved his life- on one of Stanley's first days here. He still remembered how Jack had darted in as the lizard charged, risking not only getting bit but also getting shot, as he ran right into Mr. Sir's line of fire. The lanky blonde had acted without hesitation, though… and yet, afterwards refused to say anything about it. Only grudgingly had Jack even allowed Stanley to thank him.

Why was that?

Stanley hated Jack much of the time, and these days the two were able to do no more than act like the other didn't exist. They had Zero between them, and Jack was not in the business of saying sorry. Yet he was clearly distraught over losing his voice, and as Stanley's seventeenth day at Camp Green Lake wore on towards noon, there was still no sign of any doctor being called to look at Jack and the damage done to his throat.

The water truck arrived close to noon as it always did; Stanley got out of his hole and headed towards it, passing by Jack's as he went; the blonde boy was greedily drinking the last of what was in his and Zigzag's canteens. He sighed, finally, and shook his head. "It's no good," he whispered to Zigzag, who was crouched beside him. "No good, man." Jack looked so worried, for a moment Stanley really did feel sorry for him. Jack looked up, noticing Stanley looking at him. Stanley looked away, though, and headed for the water truck.

The _truck_…

As he waited in line to get his water, Stanley started to get an idea. Zero might still be out there; Zero would need water. There was water in the truck, a lot of it.

"Come on, Twitch," Zigzag called, noticing the new kid was still in his hole, breathing hard and leaning on his shovel. "Let's go."

Stanley briefly left the line to head over to Twitch, holding a hand out. "First hole's the hardest, right?"

Twitch looked up, sighing and gratefully taking Stanley's hand, standing up and out of the hole. "Thanks, man," he said wearily. Stanley started to return to his place in line, but Mr. Sir was already at the back of the truck, arguing half with Zigzag and half with Jack, who was refusing to talk despite the fact that Mr. Sir was demanding Jack answer him.

"Listen," Mr. Sir was saying, "I don't care what your name is. You can be Richie Rich or Godfather Part Five, but you're gonna answer me when I'm talkin' to you!"

"Godfather can't talk," Zigzag said folding his arms. "He's saving his voice, tryin' to let it get better. If you'd hurry up and get a doctor out here…"

"Oh," Mr. Sir said irritably, rounding on Zigzag, "You wanna make this my fault? Okay. We'll make this my fault! You just tell me all about how it's my fault your buddy can't talk all of a sudden, and I'll just wait on fillin' these here canteens!"

Jack whispered something to Zigzag. "No, that's fine," Zigzag said reluctantly. "We'd like the water."

Mr. Sir nodded, satisfied. "Good."

Jack took his canteen back once it was filled, wandering towards the end of the line and just staring off at the sea of holes, letting his mind go blank. Zigzag joined him moments later, but knew it was best not to say anything. Jack just couldn't take his mind off the loss of his voice. He could barely speak, and could not sing at all- the very thought of this being permanent scared Jack so much, he wanted to sit down and bawl just thinking about it. In fact, he'd already done it.

The lanky blonde took a drink from his canteen, grateful for the feel of the cool water going down his throat, at least lending some temporary feeling of relief to whatever damage had been done there. "I hope this doesn't last, Zig," Jack said quietly, and Zigzag nodded. "Me, too." Neither boy was sure if it would, though, and neither had the courage to speculate aloud about the odds.

They didn't seem great right now.

Jack was so preoccupied with his private fears about his voice, in fact, that he didn't notice Stanley wandering past the line and up to the front of the truck, Twitch trailing along.

"Hey!" Squid said sharply, pushing at Magnet. "Quit cuttin' in _line_, man!"

"Ey," Magnet said, startled, "What I _do_, man? I'm in line where I'm supposed to be, don't yell at me-"

"Just stay in your spot in _line_!" Squid said, pushing him again, and Magnet shoved back, angrily saying something in Spanish.

Jack did turn at that, and moved over with Zigzag close beside him. Jack whispered to Zigzag, who moved in and got between Squid and Magnet. "Hey, come on!" he said, looking between the two boys. "Don't go arguin' like this, guys! We're all gonna get our water here, just chill out."

"_Puta_!" Magnet spat at Squid, angry and surprised. Squid didn't know a lot of Spanish, but he didn't need to in order to know he'd just been insulted. "_What'd_ you say to me?" he demanded, and the arguing started again.

"We gotta have _order_ here, fellas!" Zigzag said, still forcing them apart. "You two ain't the law here; we've gotta have _order_. Listen to Godfather."

Finally coming over to the circle of arguing boys, Mr. Sir said loudly, "Gentlemen, there's only _one law_ around here- and that's _me_! You wanna be tough guys? Okay. I'll give you a tough lesson-"

Suddenly the water truck's engine coughed and roared; Twitch stood on the passenger side, calling to the person in the driver's seat, "Put it in gear! No, no! Press that pedal on the left, third from the right, _then_ shift!"

Mr. Sir and everyone else spun around, staring in amazement; someone was stealing the water truck! Jack looked around and saw only one D Tent member was missing- Stanley.

Whoever they were, they finally figured out how the Ford's manual transmission worked, because the water truck suddenly started moving, racing forward as Mr. Sir sprinted after it. "_Hey_!" he yelled, "You! You in the truck!"

The truck sped away, gaining speed; Mr. Sir gave chase, heading for the driver's side. Abruptly, watching them go, Jack turned, dug his heels into the hard ground, and went after them. He sprinted with everything he had, chasing after that water truck like his life depended on it. Jack had no idea why he was trying to catch the water truck- just that he wanted to, very badly. The lanky blonde might have been diminished in voice, might have been lessened even in spirit- but he was still in great shape, and a superb short-distance sprinter. That fast escape from Megan Baker's house had proved that; otherwise Jack's pretty head would have been adorning a certain mechanic's shop wall.

The person behind the wheel screamed in excitement, pounding on the wheel as the truck passed by several holes; C and F tents had both noticed now, and like D Tent were cheering Stanley on. Zigzag was shouting after Jack, asking just what he was doing, but Jack had no time to answer. He had no voice to answer with, had there even been time. All he could think of was the truck, its driver, and freedom. And as he listened again, Jack was sure; the driver was Stanley. It just had to be. That sounded like him, and besides, who else would be stealing the water truck right now and driving it off towards the vastness of the desert?

Sure enough, as Jack caught up to the truck's rear cab door- as clumsy a driver as Jack had been when he'd first stolen a car, Stanley had apparently not grasped the concept of shifting up through the gears, and thus was going no faster than 26 miles an hour- Jack caught a glimpse of a boy with a red baseball cap on his head. A red baseball cap, curly brown hair, and an orange prison uniform. Yep, that was Stanley Yelnats IV, all right.

The lanky blonde lunged for the rear passenger door handle; his right hand set on the chrome handle, and he pressed the button, letting go as he swung the door wide open and leapt inside. Jack slammed the door shut behind him, leaning forward and tapping Stanley on the shoulder.

"I'm comin' with you," Jack said hoarsely, and Stanley whirled so fast he almost let go of the wheel and began driving the truck towards the hole. Jack pointed forward. "_Look_, dumbass!" he said harshly, "_Drive_!"

Stanley even managed to shift into second gear, and just as Mr. Sir began to catch up, yelling, "You stop this truck, Yelnats! _You stop this truck_!" it pulled away. Mr. Sir had been so set on catching the water truck he didn't even watch what was ahead of him; Stanley drove right past the edge of one hole and Mr. Sir tripped, falling neatly inside.

"Whoo!" Stanley screamed, so excited he even reached a hand back and slapped palms with Jack, who was grinning from ear to ear. This was a Stanley he liked; one he wished he'd met seventeen days before.

As the truck weaved through the sea of holes, steadily going faster, Jack and Stanley could hear boys cheering them on. C, F, D Tent- it didn't matter. Even the lump was cheering wildly, yelling at them to keep going, don't stop.

"Whoo! Yeah, yeah! Whoooo!" Stanley yelled, pumping his fist in the air.

"Bye, Caveman!" somebody yelled.

"Gonna miss you, Godfather!"

"Keep going!"

"Run for it, dudes!"

Stanley cheered, elated at his spur-of-the-moment plan's success. Briefly, he turned back and waved. "Bye-bye, Camp Green L-"

WHAM!

The truck went over the edge of a hole and dove straight in, going from over 30 miles an hour to zero in one instant. The driver's side airbag exploded in Stanley's face, Jack was thrown against the back of the front passenger's seat, and the top hatch of the water tank in the back broke open, spilling gallons of water all over the roof and front of the truck.

The airbag hissed loudly as it began to deflate; Stanley batted it away, shaking his head and trying to get his bearings again.

"Shit," Jack said quietly, and that about summed it up.

The cries of joy coming from the campers now turned to shouts of concern.

"Whoah!"

"You okay, Caveman?"

"Godfather!"

"Guys! Guys, you all right?"

Looking back, both boys could see a crowd of boys in orange uniforms rushing towards them- them, and Mr. Sir.

Jack leapt nimbly over to the driver's side of the truck, forcing the rear door on that side open and tumbling out. Stanley leaned towards the driver's door, fumbled for the inside door handle and got it, falling gracelessly out on the hot ground. A pair of lightly-tanned hands reached down, hauling Stanley to his feet. He turned his head and saw Jack, his face grim with determination.

"Break's over, Caveman," Jack said quietly, "Let's go."

They ran. After just an instant, Jack remembered his canteen- he sprinted back to the truck, grabbed it, and after pausing for just a moment to pump a fist in the air and flash a brilliant smile- the old smile, the smile of Richie Rich- Jack ran. He sprinted after Stanley, joining him in a headlong race into the desert. They even made a contest out of it, each trying hard to outrun the other. As they sprinted away from the water truck, nose-down in the hole and likely to be there for some time to come, Jack and Stanley both noticed they were fleeing amidst a renewed chorus of cheers. The boys of D Tent had reached the truck, and were jumping for joy, wishing a fast escape for not one but two of their own.

As the lanky blonde boy and the stocky, brown-haired one sprinted away, dodging holes as they went, Mr. Sir yelled furiously after them as he reached his truck. "You done it now!" he shouted. "You _done it now_!"

The boys cheered wildly. They were beside themselves; none of them had ever seen anything like this- ever! And this was Jack Merridew's third escape from Camp Green Lake; he had set a record nobody was ever gonna be crazy enough to beat.

"Keep going!" Zigzag yelled over the cheers and yells of encouragement. "Keep going, don't stop!"

"Yeah, keep going!" Mr. Sir added, yelling sarcastically after the two boys. "There ain't gonna be no Yelnats the _Fifth_! Ain't gonna be no Godfather Part _Two_!"

Stanley soon passed far beyond the holes that had been dug recently; the ones he was running by might have been there for years. As he ran he became aware of two things- Jack running along beside him, and his canteen. As Stanley ran, it kept bumping off his side, the hollow sound it made reminding him that it was empty, empty, empty.


	22. Chapter 22- Out There

**Chapter XXII- Out There**

* * *

After perhaps two or three minutes, Jack set a hand on Stanley's shoulder. The boy called Caveman turned to look at him, and Jack just motioned behind him. "We can stop running, I think," he said softly. "No one is coming."

"Woah!" Stanley grabbed Jack by the shoulder and steered him away; still moving forward as he looked back, the blonde had almost stepped into a hole- and as they looked down, a hole that had at least ten yellow-spotted lizards crawling around in it. Sure enough, they liked these deep, spacious holes so generously made by the humans far better than anything they could have made themselves.

Stanley backed them away from the hole. "No _senor_," he said faintly. "Not for me."

Jack just shrugged and kept going.

As their breathing finally slowed down from the long run out here- they were at the outermost holes in the camp now- Jack and Stanley both took a look at their canteens. The Caveman's was empty, as it had been; he hadn't stopped to get it filled before making his spontaneous escape attempt. Jack's on the other hand, was full; having taken the privilege of going first, as was his right as the boy who'd been there longest, he'd gotten it filled just before Stanley stole the truck. Holding up the canteen full of water, the blonde smiled and hugged it.

After a moment, he looked over at Stanley, who was glancing at him oddly. "What?"

"Dude," Stanley said uncertainly, "I thought you hated me."

The lanky blonde thought about that a moment. Stanley Yelnats might have been his favourite punching bag at a few points in time- he had certainly annoyed Jack enough on the day he'd shown up, trying to be buddy-buddy and asking all his stupid questions. He hadn't ever quite grasped the pecking order at Camp Green Lake, how Jack's voice, personality, and time at camp essentially made him the boss- the chief- when a supervisor wasn't around. But Stanley was different- somehow, Jack had known that right from the beginning, even if he hadn't cared to admit it. Were Jack not so reluctant to trust much more than perhaps one person in every ten- that way, in his mind, he always came out ahead of the game- he might have even… trusted Stanley. But Stanley had crossed him- he'd stood up to Jack in front of a whole group of witnesses, and then his little buddy had nearly killed the leader of D Tent. That brought Jack's mind more solidly back to the present- whatever disagreements he'd had with the Caveman, he had more with Zero.

That little dude was way higher on Jack's shit-list now. Jack didn't personally care either way; if Zero was dead, too bad. If he was alive, fine. But secretly, Jack hoped they wouldn't find Zero at all- he had a strange feeling that guy just might be alive, and didn't at all fancy the idea of running into him again.

Finally Jack just shook his head a little. "Nah," he said, "I don't." It was a good thing it was so quiet out here, as they walked farther and farther towards the outermost hole; Jack was speaking in a raised whisper at best, and even then was reluctant to do it.

They walked.

After a few more minutes of silence, Stanley got another question he couldn't keep to himself. He glanced over at Jack, genuinely curious. "So, why'd you come with me?"

Jack looked at him, surprised. "What?"

The blonde looked like he'd been shaken out of some reverie of his own; Stanley repeated the question. Jack paused, looking far behind them to where the truck was still nose-down in the hole. The sound of its engine revving carried across the lake bed towards him and Stanley now and then, but it was obvious the truck wasn't going anywhere for a while. Jack smiled a little, again impressed at Stanley's handiwork; this guy beside him might have even had the guts to steal that '85 Gran Fury, just like Jack had.

After a few moments, Jack realised Stanley was still looking at him, expecting an answer. He shifted the khaki baseball cap he wore backwards during the day to shield his neck from the sun, then turned around and kept walking. He shrugged a little, like he didn't really know himself. "It seemed like a good idea," Jack said quietly. "You looked like you had somewhere to go."

Stanley laughed a little at that. "Yeah, I did."

"Where?"

Stanley paused, glancing at Jack as they walked; the other boy just looked back at him evenly. Finally, Stanley said, "I guess I was hoping I could find Zero."

"Oh." Jack suddenly found the desert very interesting.

A third question came to Stanley, this one something he might not have asked at all earlier. He hadn't much cared then, angry about how Jack had treated Zero, pushing him to his limits- but then, Jack was already showing signs of not being who he'd been then. He had no choice but to talk less, sure, but that wasn't the only difference. Jack's way of greeting Twitch had been very different from how he'd greeted Stanley; the fourth Stanley Yelnats had a feeling that the lanky blonde would not have treated Twitch quite the same had he still been large and in charge like was used to. So Stanley went ahead and asked. "Wh-what happened to your voice? Did Zero do that when he choked you?"

Jack winced painfully at the memory, but nodded. "Sure did. You happy?" The blonde sounded so bitter it was actually kind of sad. He clearly had never thought to stop and wonder what he could lose if somebody like Zero ever fought back.

Like so many schoolyard bullies, Jack was not some hell-born personification of evil- but he was certainly capable of being mean enough that some, especially his victims, would have doubted that. He must have had people he cared about, though- Stanley had once or twice seen him sealing an envelope, kissing it, and hiding it under his pillow before dropping it in the mailbox the next day. And sometimes Jack would have Zigzag or Squid- sometimes both- sitting beside him on his cot or on a couch in the Wreck Room, smiling and laughing as he showed them song lyrics he'd been writing.

And then Jack had saved Stanley from a yellow-spotted lizard once- just charged in through Mr. Sir's line of fire after the missed shot, gone into a slide for home plate and just kicked that charging lizard like it was nothing. Stanley realised that he'd probably imitated the bony, lanky blonde when he'd returned the favour a few days later, dragging Jack out of the fight in the Wreck Room that he hadn't had enough sense to walk away from. Jack had saved Stanley from a yellow-spotted lizard, and Stanley had saved Jack from the Lump.

What about now?

Stanley had stolen the water truck, and even after he'd crashed it- no big surprise there when you thought about it- Jack had chosen to come along. Now they were wandering farther and farther out across the bottom of a dead lake. Vaguely, Jack thought of how cool it must have been back when there was a lake to be the dude that owned it. And how uncool it had to have been to be that same guy, once the lake was gone.

Stanley shook his head, though, answering Jack's question honestly. "No, man. I'm not." No matter how much of a jerk Jack often wanted to be, he had shown potential to be better than that. And just as importantly, there was the simple fact that Stanley believed quite evenly in that old, simple rule: Do No Harm. Nobody deserved to have done to them what Zero had done to Jack; even if Jack had done something to earn it, this would mean forever losing his dreams of being a teenage celebrity if the damage turned out to be permanent.

Jack huffed contemptuously, not even trying to hide how bitter he felt. "You could have fooled me. Must be nice, havin' a little buddy ready to choke a guy to death for you." Jack kicked hard at a passing rock, sending it off a good ten or fifteen feet. "Fuck."

The boy called Caveman looked at Jack, a little dismayed. "Come on, man- I didn't tell him to do that. I mean, you still could get your voice back, but we gotta find Zero. He's out there, and you know what'll-"

"Then if we find him, we find him," Jack whispered, his voice flat. He looked at Stanley evenly. "I've been here almost seven months. Run away three times now. Warden's gonna kill me if I go back, so I'm out here."

Jack considered.

"Besides," he said with a shrug, "I'm fucking tired of digging holes."

Stanley pointedly at Jack. After a moment, the blonde looked back at him uncertainly. "What?"

"Are you gonna help me find Zero?"

"Huh?"

Stanley took a step towards the blonde, who looked surprised and for once took a step back. "Are you gonna help me find Zero?" Stanley repeated, his voice hard. He had to have an answer to this- an honest answer- before they went any further. Otherwise this partnership, however spur-of-the-moment it might have been, would make no sense at all.

Finally, the bony-shouldered blonde shrugged. "Sure," he whispered, reminding himself to use as few words as possible. His vocal cords, whatever shape they were in, would not have their condition helped if he decided to give a Winston Churchill speech.

But Stanley still wasn't satisfied. Looking pointedly at Jack, he said, "And when we find him-"

"How do you even know-"

"When we find him," Stanley repeated, "are you gonna help me get him back to camp or wherever it is we go?"

Jack glared back at Stanley for a few moments, but finally deflated, nodding. "Yeah, sure," he said, biting the words out.

After a moment, Stanley decided he wanted a more solid commitment than that. "You promise?"

"_Ego Servo Promissionem Meam_," Jack said, his voice a hoarse whisper in the near-total silence of the desert. When Stanley looked at him curiously, Jack translated. "I Keep My Promise," he said solemnly. "Family motto."

At last Stanley felt satisfied, and he kept walking. For five whole minutes they walked in silence, Stanley busy scanning the horizon for Zero. What attempts he made to talk to Jack fell flat anyway, as the blonde was refusing to talk due to the effort it caused him.

Suddenly, though, Jack halted near the outermost hole at this end of the camp. Glancing back, it amazed him that the Warden had ordered holes dug this far out- this last one had to be a full two miles from the Warden's cabin and the other buildings of Camp Green Lake.

Stanley walked on for a few seconds, then noticed Jack wasn't with him; he turned and saw the blonde sitting down on a pile of dirt. Right beside the outermost hole, it had probably been there for years- ever since the hole itself had been dug. Jack held up the canteen he'd remembered to take at the last minute, smiling a little. "Want some water?"

The boy called Caveman was so happy he could have hugged Jack. He could have kissed him- well, almost. "You had water in yours!" Stanley said, amazed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jack smirked, looking a bit more like his old self again. "You didn't ask."

And for perhaps the first time in his life, when Stanley sat down beside him, Jack handed the other boy the canteen and let him drink first.

"Hey, come on," Jack whispered after a moment, "Leave some for later."

Stanley halted; without even thinking about it, he'd drained at least a quarter of what was in Jack's canteen. If Jack drank the same, they'd be down to half… and it was a big, dry desert out here. Water conservation mattered more than anything.

Sighing gratefully, Stanley handed the canteen over. Jack took it and drank about a quarter of it himself, in spite of his warning to Stanley. The Caveman understood, though; they'd both sprinted a long way from camp before walking all this way out here. The sun was burning down from high overhead and would be for hours yet; it had to be a hundred degrees out here. The fact was simple: both boys were thirsty. Enough so they could barely put words to the issue, if they let themselves think about it.

For a few minutes they rested, neither boy saying anything. Finally, Jack tightened the cap on the old Gatorade bottle that functioned as his canteen, throwing the canvas strap back over his left shoulder. He stood and faced Stanly, holding a hand out. He didn't look happy- not about his voice, or about any of this- but he at least looked resolved, determined. And as he held out his hand to Stanley, offering to help him up, Stanley could have sworn Jack had a look in his eyes there hadn't often been before. It might have been respect.

Stanley took Jack's hand, and the lanky blonde pulled the Caveman to his feet. For just a moment, Jack paused. "If I go one more step," he whispered, "I'll have walked farther into this desert than I've ever been."

He stepped forward. Stanley did the same, and they walked on. After a few moments, Stanley found yet another question he just had to ask.

"These three times you've run away- how'd you plan 'em?"

Jack laughed faintly, smiling in bittersweet amusement. "Plan?"

Stanley looked at him. "You had to have a plan, dude. Something. Didn't you?"

Jack just shook his head as they walked, further and further into the desert. "You're asking the wrong guy," he whispered. "I've never planned a thing in my life."


	23. Chapter 23- The Plan

**Chapter XXIII- The Plan**

* * *

The Warden had almost never needed to have a means of pulling one of her camp's vehicles out of the holes. Almost. Such accidents had happened once or twice over the years, though, and she'd gotten a 1947 Chevrolet wrecker truck and kept it behind her cabin, just in case. This afternoon, the truck was out there, the tow cable being hooked up to the back of the water truck. Mr. Sir had made several attempts at backing it out of the hole, but there was no chance of that. The drive wheels were all in the rear, and those just dug into the edge of the hole, eroded what dirt was there, and then spun on nothing at all.

Dr. Pendanski was scanning the desert through a pair of binoculars, wanting to snap something unpleasant at the Warden. It seemed like every few seconds she would halt in her impatient pacing, look at Dr. Pendanski, and say something like "Can you see 'em?" or "Well?" Pendanski was grateful, in a way. At least she wasn't saying "Excuse me?"

"Can you see 'em?"

Dr. Pendanski sighed. "I'm not gonna _see_ what's not _there_."

"Well, what _is_ out there?" The Warden demanded.

"Nothing," Dr. Pendanski sighed irritably, scanning over probably the one thousandth rock, pile of dirt, or hideous little bush he'd seen in the past few minutes. "One great, big, stinking hunk of _nothing_."

"_Excuse_ me?"

_Oh, dear God_. Dr. Pendanski wanted to smack a palm to his face. That probably would have hurt, though; getting smacked in the face by a shovel was no laughing matter.

Just then, Mr. Sir hurried over, as if just struck by some urgent thought. "Look," he said quietly, warily eying the crews of boys as they clustered around the water truck, working on digging it out, "I'm just sayin'. What are we gonna do about Caveman? He ain't like Zero, he's got family." Mr. Sir paused. "And what about Richie Rich? Them boys didn't call him that for nothin', you know. He's got a _rich_ family. Rich families have lawyers; _good_ ones."

"I _know_," the Warden snapped, sighing irritably. She secretly cursed listening to that East Coast judge when he'd told her he had a good, promising boy who just needed to learn a valuable lesson. The judge had felt like that lesson would be learned at Camp Green Lake as well as anywhere. But in the vast vocabulary of a judge or lawyer, "good" and "promising" all too often meant "WASP with nice parents" and "Those parents cut a nice deal". She wanted to make that damned judge dig holes out here; letting that skinny rich boy in here had caused her no end of trouble.

More irritating still was that the judge had probably got a new Lincoln out of it or something. Hell, maybe he and the stupid rich kid's parents were friends. The Warden could have cared less; she just wished she'd tried harder to break ol' Richie's spirit. He'd screamed and cried like a girl when she'd smacked him as punishment- for his audacious first escape attempt, and for asking that ballsy question. He'd cringed so much like a little kid at the sight of the Warden for a week afterwards, ol' Richie Rich had. He hadn't seemed so big and brave then. But he'd gone on and escaped not only _again_, but another time after that. Distantly, the Warden wished she could have just known all this beforehand, so she could've just taken the grinning little blonde imp out back and shot him a long time ago.

Finally, the Warden sighed. Under her wide-brimmed hat, she looked over at an expectant Mr. Sir. "In two weeks," she said calmly, "we'll report they've run away. Call in dogs, helicopters, the whole nine yards."

"By then," Mr. Sir said slowly, "there'll be nothin' left to find of them boys. Nothin' at all."

The Warden smiled coldly, pleased Mr. Sir followed her reasoning. "That's exactly right."


	24. Chapter 24- Finding Zero

**Chapter XXIV- Finding Zero**

* * *

The two boys in dusty orange uniforms trudged across the desert, following the straight line they'd been going in for hours. This happened to be the way Zero had gone, more or less, and Stanley had some recollection of that. There was nothing for at least a mile; rocks and a lot of hard, dry, sun-baked dirt. Gradually, though, there came to be bigger rocks, or at the very least, more of them. And there were bushes; almost as dry as the ground around them- yet somehow still alive- they stubbornly hung on out in the vast reaches of the desert, defiant against the desert's near-total ability to deny the possibility of life.

"To think I believed the judge," Jack whispered absentmindedly, "when he told me that Camp Green Lake was a superior alternative to jail." The blonde shook his head ruefully. "I shoulda just shut up and done my time."

Jack could feel sweat trickling down his neck, down his face; he was vaguely starting to regret running away like this. But he never once considered turning back; he just wished he'd thought of stealing the truck before Stanley had. Jack had stolen enough vehicles by now- and all before even getting his driver's license- that he probably could have steered the truck out of the sea of holes and gotten away with it. If he'd been driving, he and Stanley could have been miles ahead of where they were now.

But Stanley had been driving the truck, and Jack hadn't thought of it first. So they walked.

The sun beat down on them mercilessly, and each boy prayed for dark, wished for shade. One wouldn't be here for a while yet; the other was not to be found at all.

Stanley suddenly became aware of Jack tapping him on the shoulder; he'd been staring off at the mountains while he walked on, wishing he could find a good reason to override Jack's decision t they keep the remaining half of the water in his canteen until they'd stopped for the day.

"What?" Stanley said, looking over at Jack. The blonde didn't speak- Stanley was still having trouble getting used to that- but pointed. Stanley followed where he was pointing… and spotted the burlap sack lying on the side of a particularly ugly bush.

Stanley hurried over, picking it up; it was Mr. Sir's sack of sunflower seeds. He turned it over, holding one hand under it. Two seeds fell out; absentmindedly, Stanley handed one to Jack.

Lunch.

Then Jack was shaking Stanley's shoulder, and pointed again. Stanley looked off to the left, and could have shouted for joy when he saw it.

There was an old, turned-over rowboat- very old from the look of it- lying there on the lake bed, perhaps two hundred feet off. Stanley hurried towards it, Jack following eagerly. An intact boat like that meant a chance of shelter, hope for shade. They might or might not have found Zero- the burlap bag's presence said he'd at least passed this way- but they had found where they could stop and rest for a while. Both boys hurried over, cheered by their good fortune.

As they rounded the front of the boat, looking to see if there was a way to get underneath, both were surprised to see two surprisingly-fresh piles of dirt scattered to either side. There was an entrance, all right, and some space underneath. Probably the boat had flipped over and sunk for whatever reason, then landed on the bed of the lake- perhaps, on a pocket or depression in the underwater floor.

In any case, there was not only a boat whose hull could act as a roof, but a shelter underneath. But the biggest surprise was yet to come; as they looked closer at the entrance, Stanley and Jack spotted the outline of a figure lying underneath. The figure was wearing an orange prison uniform.

The figure was still.

The two boys gave each other a look; it could only be one person. "Zero?" Stanley called cautiously, hoping he wasn't too late.

Jack took a step forward and rapped his knuckles on the boat's wooden hull. He said nothing, but looked intently down at the prone figure lying underneath.

The figure moved.

Stanley's eyebrows went up, his eyes widening in surprise. He turned at the sound of shoes scraping on the hard ground, though, and saw Jack backing up in a big hurry, not halting until he was five feet away. His eyes were wide and fearful, though he immediately threw Stanley a glare when he saw the other boy looking.

"Huh?" a voice said weakly, as the figure under the boat got up and crawled out. He looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun with one hand. "Stanley!" he said finally, and Stanley rushed over and embraced him.

"How ya doin', man?" Stanley asked, happy to have found his friend again. "All right," Zero answered, a little weakly.

"We thought you were gone!" Stanley exclaimed as they separated and sat side by side, leaning against one of the dirt piles. He was so relieved to have found Zero, and found him still alive- it was more than he'd been willing to hope for at times.

"I was," Zero said simply. "Hey, you got any water?"

"No," Stanley said regretfully, "I'm out."

"Aw." Zero leaned sideways, resting against the side of the boat; even this minimal effort seemed to fatigue him.

"But you know the water truck?"

"Yeah."

"I tried to drive it over here; I crashed it into a hole."

Zero laughed a little, amused in spite of everything. "Figures." He glanced at the burlap sack, which Stanley had decided to keep with him. "Any seeds left in that?"

Stanley shook his head; he and Jack had shared the last two. "Aw," said Zero again, and resumed lying against the side of the boat.

Suddenly, Stanley remembered- he did have some water! For once, Stanley was grateful for Jack being around, and for the first time he'd run away he was genuinely glad Jack had come with him. Pointing and looking towards Jack- who was still standing five feet away, a grim look of determination on his face, as if a concentrated effort was needed to keep him from running- Stanley said, "But Jack's with me; he's got some water. Jack!"

"_What_, asshole?" Jack whispered, and Zero suddenly sat up, looking sharply at the boy standing a short distance away.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Zero asked, looking like he'd just eaten something that disagreed with him, and more than a little at that.

Jack glared back but said nothing.

Seeing a difficult situation arising in a big hurry, Stanley moved in front of Zero, holding his hands out carefully. "Hey," Stanley said with forced calm, "You trust me, right?"

"I trust you," Zero said, the way he spoke saying a lot about who he didn't trust at the moment.

"Well," Stanley said carefully, "Jack promised to help me find you. He came with me when I stole the water truck. He helped me get up and run when I crashed it, and he went back and got his canteen. He's got some water left."

Zero was silent for a few moments, considering this. "Whatever, man," he said, in perfect imitation of Armpit.

"Come on," Stanley said, turning to Jack. "Zero needs some water!"

Jack walked forward easily enough, but his face was tense and his eyes never left Zero. He slowly handed Stanley the canteen, then backed away.

_My God_, Stanley thought slowly, the realization incredible, _He's _afraid! _He's afraid of _Zero!

It was probably not best to say anything about that, though. Jack, when scared, looked to be the kind of boy who might actually be more dangerous that way than he was angry. Angry, he was aiming to win some schoolyard fistfight or hallway argument. But scared? Jack wasn't the type to get scared unless he was fighting for his life, and at a moment like that even the mildest of people could become very dangerous indeed.

Stanley unscrewed the cap of Jack's canteen and held it out. Zero might have had a problem with Jack, but he certainly didn't mind taking his water; he drank close to the whole thing. Jack watched with dismay, even regret- he didn't exactly like handing the last of his precious water to his least favourite person at Camp Green Lake. But it was happening, so Jack stood nearby and did his best to come to peace with it. That, too, was something he hadn't often had to do before.

Finally Jack sat down on the hull of the boat, up at the front end and never taking his eyes off Zero. Stanley looked back at his friend. "Zero," Stanley said quietly, "we gotta get back to camp."

Zero sat up, looking at Stanley like he was crazy. "I'm not goin' back."

The three boys sat in silence for a few moments. "Want some sploosh?" Zero asked.

"Huh?" Stanley said, not sure what a 'sploosh' was.

"Sploosh!" Zero said again, then started to crawl back under the boat. "Come on," he said, "I'll show you."

Cautiously, Stanley asked, "What about Jack?"

"Is that what it's called?" Zero asked, his smile cold. Then she shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. Hope he's okay with sploosh; I'm sure they have something much better back at the manor."

Stanley stared a little as Zero went back under the boat; he hadn't known Zero could make such barbed comments. Finally, though, Stanley started to follow Zero, motioning to Jack. "Come on," he said. "It'll be fine, man."

Jack looked like he'd rather eat a live scorpion, but the blazing sun wasn't getting any cooler. He got up and wandered over, joining Stanley as he crawled under the boat.

It was surprisingly spacious underneath the rowboat; Zero couldn't have dug all this out himself. "You made a door?" Stanley said, amazed at the work Zero had done, having found the strength to dig his way under the boat even after hours in the hot sun. And unlike Stanley and Jack, he'd made his way out here with no water.

But Zero just nodded. "Yep."

As soon as he joined the other two boys under the boat, Jack's face said he was glad he'd made the decision; it had to be at least ten degrees cooler under here than it was outside. Jack immediately found the forward end of the boat and crawled for it, though, finding a nice, cool corner to sit in with Stanley in the middle and Zero at the stern. The only thing that seemed to make Jack calmer was having Stanley blocking Zero's way at him. It wouldn't have even mattered to Jack, had he known that Zero had no interest in attacking him at the moment; Jack was now on high alert. Surprised and defeated once, he was determined not to be overwhelmed that way again.

Plus, he was scared. He'd never lost a fight that way before, and certainly not to somebody who was supposed to be, well… less than him. It was a whole new thing for Jack, and he didn't like any part of how it made him feel.

Presently, Stanley noticed a wooden box holding a collection of empty glass jars- it had a slot for each one to keep them from banging together. There were some others scattered throughout the inside of the shelter, and Zero was banging the top of one against the wood side. With a tinkling sound, he broke off the top piece of the glass jar, holding it out to Stanley. The jar's outside was encrusted with dirt; it had to have been under here for a hundred years. Stanley gave Zero an odd look as he held the jar.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Sploosh!" Zero said again. "That's what I call it. Drink it; it's good!"

A slight huffing sound from the forward end of the boat said just what Jack thought of that. Zero's eyes narrowed a little and he cast a glance towards him. "What was that, _Jack_?"

The blonde just crossed his arms and stared up at the bottom of the boat- now the top, the ceiling of the shelter. But he said nothing.

Glancing down at the syrupy, muckish substance inside, Stanley hoped for the best and drank. It was almost like a jar of- what were they called? - preserves. Peach preserves, maybe. After a few moments, Stanley chewed it a little bit and swallowed. "It is kinda good!" he said, surprised. "Tastes kinda like peaches. How many of these you got left?"

Zero looked reluctant to say it. "That's the last one."

Finally, Stanley set the jar down in one of the slots, careful not to spill what was left. After a moment he picked it up again, turning to Jack. "Want some?"

Jack glanced at him, taking the jar as Stanley held it out. He sniffed it and looked up at Stanley like he'd just handed Jack a jar of eyeballs. "What the _fuck is_ this?" he whispered, looking a little green at the idea of drinking anything that had been out here this long.

"It's your Wellington Roast, sir," Zero said in a stereotypical English butler's voice. "Well done."

Jack's eyes narrowed and he glared at Zero, but the smaller boy just looked right back, almost seeming amused at Jack's irritation. Stanley glanced between them and realised Zero very likely _was_ amused; he'd never been able to even think about poking at Jack's pride like this before, and was milking the opportunity for all it was worth.

After a few moments, though the blonde held up the jar and drank some of the contents. He still looked like he thought the idea was crazy, but thirst and hunger were getting the better of him. Jack drank. After a few moments he handed the jar back to Stanley and resumed staring resolutely at the floor of the shelter, or studying the wooden hull of the boat.

"Zero," Stanley said again, "we need to get back to camp. Let's wrap this jar up and get going."

The other boy just looked back at him, shaking his head. "I'm not goin' back."

Jack thought about voicing agreement; for once, he and Zero had something in common. But he decided to save his voice, and said nothing.

Stanley looked straight at Zero, sensing a need to be blunt now. "You will _die_ out here if you don't." Zero said nothing, so Stanley went on, "Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna go back to camp, and we're gonna tell the Warden exactly where I found Kate Barlow's lipstick tube. She'll be so happy, we won't get in any trouble!"

_I highly doubt that_, Jack thought, but said nothing.

Zero was silent for a few moments, then looked up at Stanley curiously. "What's Mare-yeh-low?"

"What are you talking about?" Stanley asked impatiently.

Zero shrugged. "Mary-low."

Stanley just looked at him, confused, and finally Zero sighed. "Come on," he said, heading back out the entrance under the boat.

Once outside again, Stanley saw Zero pointing at an engraving on the boat's side. "See!" Zero said, "Mary-low."

Reading the name, Stanley realised. "Oh," he said as he realised, "It's Mary Lou!"

Zero frowned in confusion. "But, I thought "Y" made the 'yeh' sound."

"Yeah," Stanley said, "It does. But at the beginning of a word, not the end of…"

Zero looked up as Stanley trailed off. "What?"

Stanley pointed at a mountain in the distance; the range of mountains was not so distant now. They might even be able to reach it before nightfall. "See that mountain?" Stanley asked, and Zero nodded. "Yeah."

"You think that spot up at the top looks like a thumb?"


	25. Chapter 25- The Long Climb

**Chapter XXV- The Long Climb**

* * *

After resting in the shade of the boat for perhaps another thirty minutes, Stanley wrapped up the jar of sploosh and crawled out from under the boat, Zero following. Jack stayed under the boat.

Stanley started to discuss with Zero his plan for heading out for the mountain- the one that looked like it had a thumb on the top- but halted, sticking his head back under the boat.

"Come on, Jack," Stanley said. "We gotta go."

Jack looked at him coldly. "I'll die in the shade, thanks," he said in a flat voice.

"There might be something up on that mountain," Stanley said. "Maybe it'll have water."

"Maybe you're just gonna die tired," Jack snapped, his voice sounding weak.

Finally, Stanley got irritated, his face flushing with anger. "Well, if you're gonna die either way, Jack, then why the _fuck_ does it matter if you die in the shade?"

Jack looked at Stanley, surprised. "My my, Stanley," he said, only somewhat sarcastic. "I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you swear."

"You coming or not?" Stanley demanded, and Jack finally got up and crawled for the entrance.

"Fine, fine. Just don't cry when we die later."

It ended up being a lot farther to the base of the mountain than any of them had expected; the three boys walked steadily across the desert, pacing themselves as best they could. They passed the remaining water in Jack's canteen around, but it wasn't long before it was gone. Jack secretly began to despair.

_We are gonna _die_ out here_, he thought with slowly rising panic. _We're gonna die, and nobody will ever find us_.

"You know my great-grandfather almost died out here?" Stanley asked as they walked, looking up at the mountain.

"Huh," Zero grunted, not able to think of much else to say. "He said he found refuge on God's Thumb," Stanley said.

"Well, good for you, Stanley," Jack said. "Maybe we'll get a chance to die out here, too."

Stanley looked at the blonde, irritated. "Why do you wanna talk like that?"

Jack shrugged. "Just being logical. We're out in the desert, it's miles to anything; who's gonna find us?"

Zero gave Jack a cold stare. "Nobody."

The blonde stared at Zero; he didn't like that look, or the way this kid had said that one word. It was creepy. He just shook his head and kept walking; in fact, Jack didn't say another word until they'd reached the base of the mountain. There was a long, sloping hill of dry dirt at its base.

"Long way up," Zero said, somewhat stating the obvious. The towering mass of reddish-coloured rock was still intimidating when you looked up and saw the reality of it, though, so Jack had no witty comment for that.

"Yeah," Stanley nodded. "Well, we'd better get up there before dark."

The mountain was steep; very steep. In fact, starting out, you were looking at a rock wall more than anything. It was a climb straight up that wall.

Jack surprised the other two boys, then, by scurrying forward and going first. "Come on," he whispered, raising his voice a little- but no more than he dared. "I'll get us up there."

The path Jack began choosing as he worked his way up the mountain seemed safe enough; Jack hadn't died yet, and that was proof enough. Stanley and Zero followed, Zero carrying his shovel as he went.

"What do you think is up there?" Zero asked as they made their way between two formations of rocks, bracing between them and inching up.

"Oh," Stanley sighed, "Bet they got a Dairy Queen servin' hot fudge sundaes."

"Good," Zero said. "I could use one about now."

"You know what I keep thinking about?" Stanley asked as they followed while Jack scurried nimbly up the rock wall, pausing so the other two could keep up.

"What's that?" Zero called back.

"The guy that owned that boat? How fine his Mary Lou must have looked in a bikini."

The climb went on and on, though, and after a time the boys largely fell silent. Jack quit talking entirely, pointing and gesturing as he made his way up the mountain. Strangely, the longer the climb went on the happier Jack seemed to become. Each time they reached a ledge or plateau of rock jutting out from the side of the mountain, Stanley and even Zero would pause for breath and look up to find Jack already scaling the next wall of bumpy, uneven rock. Had it been a sheer, smooth wall of rock the whole way around, they'd have had no chance. But the way this mountain was, with a thousand variations and irregularities in its surface and so many different unique features, there were no small number of places to get a hand or foothold. On and on they went, Jack always remembering to turn back and show Stanley key hand and footholds, which he then pointed out to Zero.

Then they reached the final wall, and just like in some movie, that one was the worst. Jack, already over the edge and at the flat surface of the top, leaned down and looked at them. "Come on," he whispered, "You're almost there, guys!"

Zero had ended up taking the second spot in line as they began this last section, and so he worked his way to the top and found Jack looking down at him. Zero had found he was stuck; he was just a foot or two from the top, but he couldn't find a good hand grip to get him the rest of the way. He hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Jack leaned down and held out an arm. "Grab on," he whispered, his expression difficult to read. His eyes were hard, but not with malice. Zero glanced up and saw only determination. He gripped Jack's arm with one hand, and Jack gripped his with both. The two boys grunted as they struggled to get the second of the group over the edge. Finally, the made it, and immediately turned to the task of getting Stanley up.

"Don't look down!" Zero said as Stanley, getting close, glanced down and realised just how high up he was.

Stanley soon reached just the spot Zero had been in before, and Zero waved a hand in caution. "Don't put your hand there, that's where I got-"

But instead of getting stuck, Stanley lost his grip entirely, suddenly. He swung out over a very long drop, holding onto the mountain with just one hand. "Aw, shit," Jack whispered, and Zero instinctively grabbed for the shovel, meaning to hold out the wooden handle for Stanley to grab onto. Jack snatched it and threw it aside. "You wanna slice your hands open holding that blade?" Jack whispered, and held up his own hands. "These," Jack said, "will do fine." They both hurriedly turned back to Stanley.

"Grab our hands," Jack hissed, and he and Zero each held out one. Stanley hesitated for a moment, then put his fate entirely in the other boys' hands and gripped their hands with both of his.

"Pull!" Jack said hoarsely, and both he and Zero dug their feet into the hard rock and pulled back with all they had. Stanley struggled, his feet trying to get a grip, then made it up, collapsing gratefully as he got to the top himself.

For a few minutes, the three boys lay flat, each panting and taking a much-needed rest. Jack laughed a little. "And you wanted to use the damn shovel," Jack whispered, and made to give Zero a thump on the shoulder. He seemed to realise who he and Zero were, though, and that they didn't like each other, and ended up leaving the gesture awkwardly half-completed.

Once the three boys got up, it soon became obvious they still had a long way to go. The thumb-like pillar of stone still loomed far above, with a lot of sloping grades- sometimes gentle, sometimes steep- to climb in between.

As they climbed, Zero took to asking Stanley to spell words for him as they followed Jack up the mountain. "R-O-C-K?" Zero asked. "Is that how you spell it?"

"Yeah," Stanley nodded, "You're doing good."

"Thanks, man," Zero said, then suddenly stopped and doubled over, putting a hand against a boulder. "Ohhh," Zero groaned, "Oh, man, all that sploosh is getting to me. " Suddenly, he hunched over and retched, vomiting a thin stream of- not much. It looked like there was dust mixed in with it, which made sense in a way. That was about all any of them had eaten for quite a while now.

"Zero!" Stanley exclaimed, turning in surprise. Zero didn't say anything. He fell over and seemed to pass out, and worse, started rolling back down the mountain.

"Zero!" Stanley yelled, grabbing for him and just missing. He started to hurry after him, but somebody else was faster- throwing himself forward and sliding down the hill, Jack shot past Stanley and grabbed Zero, throwing a hand out as he wrapped his right arm around the smaller boy.

"Ah!" Jack gasped, wincing as the many small rocks cut into his palm, but adding his feet, he managed to break his fall.

"Oh, my God, man," Stanley said, hurrying down to join them. "Is he all right?"

"Get this jerk to go away, Stanley…" Zero said faintly. "I gotta tell you somethin', man."

In spite of himself, Jack smiled a little. When he saw Stanley looking at him, Jack just shrugged.

There was a brief silence. Finally, Jack whispered, "Hand me your canteen and that sack. I'll carry those. Find us a way up. Come on." He set Zero down carefully on the hillside.

Finally, Stanley decided there wasn't much of an alternative. He handed the canteen and burlap sack over, then picked up Zero, who was at least aware enough to lock his arms around Stanley's neck. Taking the shovel, Stanley began to hike up, following Jack.

"That's twice now you've saved somebody here," Stanley called as Jack advanced ahead of him. "Why?"

Jack paused and turned his head, an amused expression on his dusty, tired face. "Ask me later," he said, and kept going.

They climbed on until dark.

The rock-wall climbing had turned into uphill hiking; for that, at least, the boys were grateful. Zero had nothing to say, but clung on as Stanley carried him up, using the shovel for support. Jack kept scurrying forward to find the way, leading them closer and closer to the base of the thumb. They reached it just after nightfall. By then Stanley was so tired he could barely stand. Jack didn't look a whole lot better; his wiry, athletic frame was not meant to take this kind of punishment.

"Damn bugs," Stanley said, swatting as a cluster of flies flew in front of him.

"I hate 'em," nodded in sympathy as he swatted at some himself. He was still talking in that low whisper, taking care to keep his voice low and his words few. They had these blasted things back home, too, in- Jack stopped walking.

Stanley walked right into Jack, exclaiming in surprise. "Hey, what's the big idea?" Jack held up a hand, his eyes alive with excitement.

"Listen!" he said, his bright blue eyes gleaming in the dark.

_Ribbit_.

And as his ears tuned in to the sound of a group of croaking frogs, Stanley noticed Jack was standing near a bunch of reeds. Reeds?

Then Jack started to cry, tears of joy cutting through the layers of dust on his face. He pointed, cupping a hand to his ear.

Over the sound of the frogs, Stanley could hear the trickling sound of a small stream of water. There was a small, muddy pond just ahead of them, reeds and tall grass growing all around it, and this far up the breeze blew past now and then, cool and refreshing.

"Look," Jack said in a voice so low Stanley could barely hear. "Ever seen anything so beautiful in all your life?"


	26. Chapter 26- God's Thumb

**Chapter XXVI- God's Thumb**

* * *

Stanley shouted for joy; Jack just sat down in a muddy pool of water, rolling around in it and grinning as he felt the cool water on his arms, on his neck, on his face. He was dirtier than he'd ever been in his life, but he didn't care. It was five o'clock somewhere.

"Hector!" Stanley exclaimed, hurrying over to the pond. "Hector, wake up, man!"

Jack looked over, grinning as Stanley set Zero- no, Hector- down by the edge of the pond, splashing some water in his face. "Wake up, man!"

"Aw, dude," Hector said, "that's cold."

"Exactly!" Stanley exclaimed, grinning.

Suddenly, Hector sat up. "Water!"

"We made it! We made it, man!" Stanley shouted, and the two boys embraced, rolling around in the water. "Ah!" Hector said, scurrying back to the edge and sitting there. "Cold, cold."

"I know!" Stanley said, lying flat in the shallow water. "This feels so good, man." He cast a glance over towards the patch of tall grass where Jack was. "How about you, Jack?"

A pale arm turned brown with mud raised up, the hand at its end forming around the raised thumb.

Laughing, Stanley reached out as he tried to sit up, grabbing one of the plants near him. The soft, muddy ground gave way, and Stanley fell back on his elbows, surprised. He glanced over at the plant in his right hand.

Stanley was holding an onion.

Looking at it, Stanley was so hungry he didn't even care about his lifelong dislike for onions. There could've been a hundred in any given grocery store, yet he never once touched them. But now, he bit gratefully into the fleshy part of the plant, biting into bulb and feeling like he'd never tasted anything better in his life.

"What are you doing?" Zero asked, then gave Stanley an odd look as the other boy pulled another, similar-looking plant from the moist ground and held it out. "What's that?"

"It's a hot fudge sundae, just take it!" Stanley said, and finally Hector did. Sitting up to pull a third onion from the ground, Stanley called over to Jack. "Hey, Jack! Want a sundae?"

"Yo," Jack said weakly, and he raised both his hands, catching the onion as Stanley tossed it to him. From over there in the grass, Stanley and Hector could hear crunching sounds as Jack bit into the onion without ceremony. He clearly had no complaints about the food at this stage.

Lying back in the pond and looking up at the sky, just as he was sure Jack was doing, Stanley began to sing softly.

"If only, if only, the woodpecker sighed, the bark on the tree was as soft as the sky…"

Hector sat up, gazing at Stanley. Somehow… somehow those words, that tune- they were familiar…

"While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely; he cries to the moon: If only, if only…"

They lay there for some time, eating the onions and drinking the water- not even caring if it was a little muddy. Jack gulped both onions and water down gratefully- and smiled as he went; somehow, he felt a little better each time he took in another piece of an onion, another handful of water from the base of this mountain stream.

His throat didn't feel quite so bad anymore. It was mystifying- impossible. But slowly, very slowly, Jack began to feel stronger.

Two hours after dark, Stanley looked up, startled. Jack was still lying on his back among the grass and reeds, loving the feel of the cool water and mud about him. But that wasn't what had Stanley looking over towards him. Even Hector looked over there at the sound, surprised- none of them had ever thought they'd hear this sound again.

Over there in the tall grass, staring up at a night sky so untouched by the light of man that you could even see the outline of the Milky Way, Jack was singing. It was low in volume, and started out weakly, but the tune was there. It was barely more than a whisper, but the two boys heard Jack's voice carry the words.

"_I hear the distant thunder hum,_

_Maryland, my Maryland!_

_The Old Line's bugle, fife and drum,_

_Maryland, my Maryland!_

_She is not dead, nor deaf nor dumb-_

_Huzzah! She spurns the Northern scum!_

_She breathes, she burns, she'll come, she'll come…_

_Maryland, my Maryland!"_


	27. Chapter 27- Answers & Questions

**Chapter XXVII- Answers & Questions**

* * *

The next day was- would have been- Stanley's eighteenth at Camp Green Lake. Instead, he was spending it out here at the top of a mountain in Texas, completely on his own, and free.

Well, not completely on his own. Hector Zeroni had made it to the top of the mountain with him, though Jack had been forced to save him from falling back down when he'd passed out, and Stanley had needed to carry him the rest of the way.

Yes- and then there was Jack. Jack Merridew, the lean, blonde boy with the icy blue eyes. The career rule-breaker, the only boy ever to run away from Camp Green Lake three times. The next closest record-holders were at the top of the mountain with him, and this escape was their first.

Jack had fallen asleep soon after singing that final verse from that song- the first of several state songs in the U.S. to use the tune of "O Tannenbaum". When Stanley had gotten up to go look at him- if for no other reason than to make sure where he was- he saw Jack had rolled over onto his side, curled up slightly, just as he'd done ever since he was a baby. The blonde's face was calm under the moonlight, and he looked peaceful, unconcerned. Briefly, Stanley had wondered just what Jack was dreaming about, if anything. Whatever it was, it was good- something that made him feel safe.

Maybe he was dreaming about Maryland. The state must have been his home.

If so, Jack was a long way from home indeed- it made Stanley wonder if Jack had battled homesickness when he'd come here, and for how long. Stanley had seen Maryland once or twice- it certainly looked nothing like Green Lake, Texas.

The next morning, though, Jack was already up when Stanley awoke, sitting by himself near one end of the plateau, gazing out from the mountain over a landscape as alien to him as the moon. It looked like you could see half of Texas from here.

Stanley started to approach Jack, but thought better of it. The boy heard him anyway, turning his head. The two looked at each other, but ultimately neither said anything. Stanley turned away to go gather more onions- and to let off a long series of onion-caused farts in peace- and Jack went back to staring out over the landscape. Stanley wondered what Jack was thinking about, but he knew better than to bother him. He'd never seen Jack like this before. It would be best just to leave him alone.

When he'd gathered a nice pile of onions, though, Stanley brought a couple over to Jack. The blonde looked at him briefly, nodded in thanks and picked one up. As Stanley walked back over to Hector, he started to eat it.

The sun was up by the time Hector awoke; in fact, he was still sleeping in the shade when Stanley crouched by him, shaking his shoulder. "Morning, Onion Man!" Stanley called cheerfully. "You're sleepin' in late!"

Hector sat up, blinking and shaking his head a little. "How long was I out?"

"Long time," Stanley nodded. It had to be going on noon. That entire time, Jack had been sitting off in the shade, still staring off into the distance. He was doing some thinking, all right. Not much else to do when you're sitting at the edge of a mountain.

"Stanley," Hector said quietly, "I gotta tell you something."

"What?"

"It's my fault you got sent to Camp Green Lake. I stole the shoes."

Stanley looked over at Hector, who just shrugged in apology. "I didn't know they were Sweet Feet's."

Hector sighed, thinking back and remembering. "A lot of people donated all this stuff to the homeless shelter. And I saw the shoes, and I just…" he shrugged. "I liked 'em." He went on, still recalling the details. "I didn't know they were famous."

"Next thing I know," Hector said, "everyone's buggin' out. 'The shoes are gone, the shoes are gone!' 'Where are the shoes?' Walkin' down the street, I heard the sirens comin' after me. I got scared. So I got to this bridge; I just took the shoes off, threw 'em over the side."

Stanley listened, too fascinated to say anything.

It sounded like he'd just learned where that pair of shoes- the ones that had apparently fallen from the sky- had come from.

"I ended up getting' busted the next day," Hector finished. "Liftin' a pair of shoes from a Pay-Less." He shook his head ruefully; to think he could've gotten away with Sweet Feet's shoes but couldn't escape with a $5 pair from a dollar store.

Stanley just smiled faintly. "It's destiny," he said quietly. "Has to be."

Some distance away, his eyes still scanning miles of Texas horizon, Jack spoke a few words. Too quiet for anyone else to hear. "_C'est le destin_."


	28. Chapter 28- The Reserves

**Chapter XXVIII- The Reserves**

* * *

They came out of the shimmering waves of heat like hallucinations, tricks played on the mind by the morning mist. Except there was no morning mist over this dry stretch of Texas desert, and the cars heading for Camp Green Lake were real.

There were two; a black Jaguar X-Type, a stern-faced Hispanic woman at the wheel, and a long, emerald-green Mercedes-Benz. The Jag was driven by a graduate of the University of Virginia's law school, while the Benz's driver had gotten his degree at Yale. One had been sent by a judge, who now was inclined to overturn a decision he'd made based on incomplete evidence. The other had been brought by a letter from a boy at the camp, sent by his friend since it wasn't his name the Warden would be looking for, trying to keep that family lawyer from showing up.

It wasn't enough.

Neither lawyer had ever met the other; each was rather confused to see another car on this blank, dusty road at the same time as them. But it didn't matter- they both had a mission, and neither much cared who the other car's driver was, so long as they didn't try to get in the way. Both lawyers were on the warpath and did not intend to take no for an answer.

Out on the lake, wandering up to the old Chevy wrecker that was now carrying their refilled canteens and sacked lunches out at noontime, the D Tent boys watched the two fancy cars kicking up clouds of dust.

"Maybe they're comin' for Caveman's body," Squid drawled in speculation.

"Maybe Richie's too," Armpit said, reverting to use of Jack's older nickname.

"Come on," Zigzag grunted. "Can't nothin' keep Richie down, man. He's run away from here twice and come back. What makes you think this time's gonna be any different?"

"That's right," Squid said, wishing he had some tobacco juice to spit on the ground. "Richie probably just got down on his knees and bribed God."

The boys laughed.

"I tell you what, fellas," Armpit said reflectively, "Richie Rich had some style, man. Flash and cash."

"Yeah, man," Magnet said. "Caveman, too. Nobody like either one of 'em."

"Heh," Twitch said, grinning impishly as his eyes locked on the two cars approaching the camp. "When they stole that truck, man. Heh. That was cool. Yep-yep."

Finally, the boys watched the cars come close enough that as they followed the curve in the tracked-on dust, the make and model became clear.

"Jaguar," Twitch said, developing a strange jittering in his hands. "Nice car."

After a moment, he jumped. "Whooh!" he said, "Mercedes! Even better. Vroom, vroom."

Magnet just shook his head. "Don't even think about it, Twitch."

"Already there, man. Already there. Vroom, vroom."

Back at the camp, Ms. Carla Morengo was at Mr. Sir's office minutes later, banging on the door. Minutes after that, the Warden, Mr. Sir, and Dr. Pendanski were having a four-way shouting match with Carla Morengo, who easily took on all three camp supervisors at once. Standing outside the office, Mr. Layton T. Montgomery, a portly boulder of a lawyer who had been fighting battles in courtrooms since before any of the boys at Camp Green Lake were born, waited patiently, smiling once in a while at some of the witticisms he heard fired like a gunshot in the office.

"We have got to protect our kids!" the Warden said.

"Back up!" Morengo barked. "You have no right to keep him from me! I'm Stanley's attorney! You have no right!"

A flurry of shouts, over which Montgomery heard, "I don't care if you are his attorney! You come back here with a court order!" That sounded like the Warden.

Swinging the screen door wide open, Carla Morengo stormed out, snapping, "I'll get you a court order, and I'd say there's a shot the judge will make you pay for the wasted gas! I'm not done with you, you heard that right! I'm done yet!" In perfect imitation of the Warden, Morengo said haughtily, "Excuse _me_!" then stormed out and headed for her car.

Catching sight of Montgomery, Morengo sized him up briefly, taking a guess at what he was likely here for. "Here about one of the boys?"

"Yes, ma'am," Montgomery drawled, nodding politely. His Alabama accent- and good courtesy towards women- stuck with him even today, though he knew some female attorneys sometimes perceived this as condescension and took offense. "I am here for Mr. Jack Nathaniel Merridew. Got a letter here, says he's got himself a case of laryngitis and he has… doubts… that a doctor has been called."

"Don't waste your time," Ms. Morengo snapped, angry not at the large Alabama native, but at the Warden. Whoever she thought she was… well, she sure wasn't. Some Warden, indeed!

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Montgomery said. "But Mr. Merridew will be needing a doctor. I can't leave until I know that's bein' done."

"Well, good luck," Morengo said as she headed for her car. "Maybe you'll have better luck than I did."

Montgomery stood on the porch for just a second. Dr. Pendanski emerged from the office briefly to see if the coast was clear, but at a glare from Montgomery jumped back inside the office, hurriedly telling Mr. Sir and the Warden they had another visitor.

Layton T. Montgomery hesitated, then turned to Ms. Morengo as she got into her car. "Would you care to exchange phone numbers, ma'am? It might be helpful, in case I run into trouble at all similar to yours."

Ms. Morengo eyed the big lawyer for a moment, then took a business card out of her glove compartment. "Here," she said, "Just as long as I can have one of yours."

Montgomery handed her one promptly; he carried a small case of his printed business cards in his coat's breast pocket. "Thanks," Morengo said. "Good luck."

"My thanks to you," Montgomery said, and waddled on up the porch and into the Warden's office.

Carla Morengo stared after him for a moment, briefly smiling in spite of her irritation, even outrage- a lawyer like that probably had a deep, booming voice, one very useful for courtroom theatrics. If the Warden had thought a verbal duel with Carla Morengo was tough, she was probably just going to _love_- so his card said- Layton T. Montgomery. He of the Langley-Levritt Law Firm of Bethesda, Maryland.

Sure enough, as Ms. Carla Morengo backed her car up and began driving past the office, she lowered her driver's side window just in time to hear an explosion of flurried arguments. Above the noise, she heard the big lawyer bellow, "I don't care if you're the _governor_ of Texas! You're makin' a big mistake!"

Then, right on the heels of that: "You're excused!"

Twenty minutes later, the second lawyer to arrive that day stormed out, still shouting a parting argument and vowing his swift return. He slammed open the screen door, almost tearing it off its hinges. He'd never dealt with such idiotic defiance in his life! Well, they hadn't seen the last of him. Montgomery waddled down the porch past the door to the mess hall, squeezing himself behind the wheel of his green Mercedes. The car sank a good inch or two, but it was sturdily built, able to take even some rather burly customers. That was part of the reason Montgomery had bought it.

"What we're dealing with here is," Montgomery said to himself, "failure to communicate." It had been a favourite saying of his great uncle's, and was certainly applicable in this situation. If a court order to withdraw Jack from the camp for medical reasons was what this Ms. Walker wanted, she'd get it. That was for damned sure. Montgomery didn't like it better than anyone else- as a matter of fact, he _loved_ it- and thus was more than capable of giving Ms. Louise Walker a fight if she wanted one. After all, it was what Layton Montgomery did for a living.

As the Merridew family lawyer started up his car, its diesel engine growling softly as it accelerated away from the camp offices and back up the road it had come, the three top supervisors of Camp Green Lake stood in the sudden silence.

"We ain't seen the last of him," Mr. Sir said, more certainly than he cared for. "Or her. They'll be back."

"And next time, with a court order," Dr. Pendanski added.

The Warden just sighed, irritated more than words could express. "We'll just tell 'em the truth. They ran away."

Dr. Pendanski looked at her like she was crazy. "After we told 'em they were gonna be released? Hell, even Jack's probably not comin' back, even if all he _does_ do is go to a hospital!"

"Been almost three days," Mr. Sir added. "They're goners for _sure_. What are we gonna do?"

There was a pause; the Warden put on her wide-brimmed hat and headed for the door. "You'll do as I say."

The silence in the office was complete for almost a full minute as the two men stared after her. "What did she say?" Dr. Pendanski asked, confused and uncertain.

"Not much," Mr. Sir replied.

"Well, what do we do?" Dr. Pendanski asked again.

Mr. Sir put on his own hat. "You'll do as _I_ say," he said, then walked out the door.

"But- you didn't say anything either!"


	29. Chapter 29- Feeling Lucky

**Chapter XXIX- Feeling Lucky**

* * *

Nightfall had come again; the three boys, they who had escaped from Camp Green Lake and found refuge on God's Thumb, had passed the day comfortably. Drinking water when they needed to, they ate their fill of onions- there were enough, and to spare. They passed the day resting, sometimes talking.

Well, except for Jack. Almost the whole day had passed, now, and he hadn't said a word.

Finally, Stanley couldn't leave it alone anymore. He got up and made his way over, clapping Jack on the shoulder as he sat down. "Hey!" he said, smiling a little and hoping he looked friendly.

Jack nodded.

"Well, you've been sitting out here all day, man. Haven't said a thing since you sang a bit of that song last night." Stanley paused; Jack just looked back at him, his face blank and his eyes unreadable. It was starting to drive Stanley crazy.

"Look," Stanley said, trying again, "I get it if you need some time alone. You're worried about your voice; you need to think. But I need you to come back to the world, man. I need the loud-mouthed, overconfident jerk who loves singing at random and can't be silenced by anybody."

That brought a smile to Jack's face, and Stanley couldn't help but smile himself. "It's kinda true," he said quietly, and stopped, his eyes widening in amazement. Stanley looked at him too, surprised.

Jack sounded… better. _Felt_ better. Maybe not well enough to talk normally again- not yet- and certainly not yet well enough to sing… but getting better.

An odd thought occurred to Jack: _God bless the onions_. Then, on the heels of that thought, another.

_Maybe He did_.

Finally, Jack got up, stretched, and then just as Stanley was standing up, loudly and triumphantly farted.

"Oh!" Stanley gasped, gagging and turning away, fanning the air with his cap. "Oh, dude! Wow! That's gross, man!"

Jack sped away and dove down among the tall grasses, but his maniacal laughter gave him away. Rolling around in the mud, he gasped, "Oh! Whoo-hoo! You should've seen your face, dude!"

Stanley tried to be angry, but even Hector was laughing. Finally, all three calmed down- and the breeze blew the smell away- and silence retook the mountaintop once more. Hector and Stanley sat near a big rock, just at the edge of the pond, looking up at the stars. Jack lay on his back nearby, hands folded behind his head.

"Hey," Stanley said after a while of comfortable silence. After a moment, Jack realised Stanley was looking at him. "What?" he said, keeping his voice low.

"You said, 'ask me later'. Well, it's later. Why'd you help me and Hector those times? Help us get all the way up here?"

Jack's face turned rather pink, even in the dark. "You just gotta ask that, huh?" he said, embarrassed. "You gotta push it?"

"It's just something I'd like to know," Stanley said simply.

Jack sighed, looking up at the stars. "I don't know," he said finally. "I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"It was," Hector said, looking evenly down at Jack and speaking without hostility. No affection, certainly- but maybe some measure of respect.

Jack smiled a little, surprised. He looked up at the boy who'd spoken. "Yeah, maybe it was, Z-Hector."

He fell silent again, and went back to looking at the stars. Finally, Stanley said, "Look. I just wanna say thank you."

"And I just wanna say you're welcome," Jack said quietly, a smirk of sorts on his face.

The other two boys laughed, and for a time the three fell silent again.

Then another question occurred to Stanley; one he also had been wanting very much to ask. He looked at Jack again. "Hey- how'd you get those scars? On your face?"

Jack sat up, touching a hand to the slowly-fading marks on the left side of his face, souvenirs from the time the Warden had smacked him. He got a sly smile on his face and said, "Well. There was this Bengalese tiger that escaped from the zoo-"

"Come on, man!" Stanley cut in. "Cut it out! I just wanna know."

"You and your questions," Jack sighed. "Who says I gotta talk?"

Stanley thought about it. "You sound like you have the strength." It was true; shutting up for a whole day seemed to have really done Jack some good. His voice was still recovering at best, and he was clearly making an effort to keep his voice down and his words few. And yet- he sounded better now than he had ever since they'd fought. He almost sounded all right, like he was gonna be okay.

Jack considered that, looking between Stanley and Hector, who just looked right back. "Fine, fine," Jack said. He took a breath, then said, "I asked the Warden why we were here."

Both boys looked at him in astonishment. "But," Stanley said, "everybody says it's cause you told her she was pretty!"

Jack just shook his head, smiling a little. "Nope. This one day when Mr. Sir brought me up to the Warden's cabin for fighting Barf Bag, I told her I didn't think digging holes was the only reason we were here. She asked me what I did think we were here for. I couldn't tell how mad she was."

Even Hector seemed to find this interesting. Stanley asked, "What'd you say to her, man?"

"I said I thought we were looking for something."

Jack paused, then said quietly, "I still think we are."

He fell silent after that, and each of the boys was occupied with his own thoughts for a time.

"Hector," Stanley said, "I'm glad you stole those shoes and dropped 'em on my head. "

"What?" Hector was looking at Stanley strangely.

"If you hadn't, none of this would've happened. When I first got sent to Camp Green Lake, I thought that I got sent there because of my family's curse." He paused, thinking. "But we're not even at camp anymore. We're on God's thumb!"

Hector bit into an onion, munching on it.

Talking half to himself, Stanley said quietly, "I just have this feeling… everything's cool."

"Yeah," Hector nodded. "Same here."

"You got the same feeling?"

"Same feeling."

Stanley paused; he really did feel good for some reason. He felt better about- well, everything. Jack just sat beside the other two boys, not saying anything… but looking calm, at peace. He seemed to agree.

"Nobody in my family's ever been famous," Jack said quietly, looking up at the stars. "When I first came to camp, I didn't care. But now, I wanna change that. I wanna be the first."

Stanley looked over at Jack. "That's what you wanna do?"

"That's what I wanna do," Jack nodded, still speaking quietly… but not sounding all that bad at all.

Stanley looked up again, finding a familiar shape among the stars. "You know, those stars look like a shovel to me."

Hector glanced up, searching for a moment. "Exactly." Jack just laughed, and Stanley knew he, too, had found the shape of a shovel. Big Shovel, Little Shovel. Big Water Truck, Little Water Truck.

"Hector."

"Sup."

"I feel lucky."

Hector laughed, shaking his head. "Those onions have gone to your head."

Jack just stayed quiet, thinking. Never could he have seen any of this coming. He'd done some stupid things before coming to Camp Green Lake, and if anything he'd just adjusted and adapted the tradition once there. He'd lost his old life and found a new one, spent time away from friends and family and found new friends in the process. He'd even found somewhere to go in life- to sing, hopefully one day before thousands, and find out what it was like to really be famous. Jack had lost that for a time- it had looked like he'd lost his direction just as soon as he'd found it. But in a way… he couldn't help but feel like for all the things he'd done wrong, recently he'd done something right.

Just recently… Jack had made a promise. He'd given Stanley Yelnats his word, invoking the family motto in doing so. _Ego Servo Promissionem Meam_. I Keep My Promise.

Jack had promised Stanley he would help him find Hector Zeroni. He'd kept his promise. And now… he was beginning to feel like soon, he might be able to talk again.

Stanley was right; Jack knew just what he meant. It was a good feeling.

"Hector, Jack." Stanley looked at the two boys. "Whaddya say we dig one more hole?"


	30. Chapter 30- Day Nineteen

**Chapter XXX- Day Nineteen**

* * *

What would have been the nineteenth day at Camp Green Lake for Stanley turned out to be his second day as a once-again free man. The boys agreed on a basic plan; they would not move in during the morning, as the boys- and Mr. Sir- would be headed out on the lake before long. Noontime was obviously out, as was the afternoon. So instead, they would need to be in position by the evening, ready to attack by nightfall. "Attack" wasn't Stanley's chosen word, but Jack apparently liked the sound of it better.

They agreed to leave the mountain that morning, and ride out the worst of the day under the overturned rowboat. When the sun began to set and the digging had beyond a doubt ceased, they would move in and head for the last hole- the one where Kate Barlow's lipstick tube had really been.

The climb back down the mountain went easily enough, even though they had to go slower than before. The presence of the burlap bag had turned out to be very useful; before leaving, Stanley had stocked it full of onions, and Jack had used the towel he wore under his cap to filter the pond water some before refilling his and Stanley's canteens.

Jack was in fairly good spirits by the time they'd walked back to the boat; all of them were. Before long, they'd probably be out of here forever. Kate Barlow had buried at least a sizeable piece of her loot out here; whoever found it would be well off after that to say the very least.

Towards noon Jack cleared his throat carefully, and began to hum the tune to "O Tannenbaum." Stanley guessed, and guessed correctly, that Jack was again thinking of the tune of his state's song. Perhaps he didn't feel daring enough to try actually singing the lyrics again- at least not yet. After a minute or two Jack fell silent again, thinking about whatever it was he liked to think about.

"When you're famous _and_ rich," Stanley began, bringing a smile from Jack, "What's your name gonna be? Don't singers and pop stars need stage names?"

Jack thought for a moment. "J.M."

Hector chuckled; Jack looked at him oddly, but neither of them said anything.

"Yeah," Jack said in a low voice, "I think the girls will like that one. I'm all _about_ the girls, Stanley, my man."

He gave Stanley an appraising glance. "You _get some_ yet, Stanley?"

"Well-"

"Nevermind," Jack said, before Stanley had a chance to answer. "You will soon enough. Guy crazy enough to steal that water truck is gonna do fine with the ladies. It's about guts. And _luck_!" Jack looked at Stanley. "You think you got those?"

Stanley looked back, speaking with a confidence that surprised even himself. "Sure do."

Jack smiled. "Then I think you'll do fine, Caveman."

As the afternoon dragged on, Jack fell asleep, looking almost like a little kid as he leaned up against the inside of the boat and napped without a care in the world. Stanley and Hector ended up nodding off too; there was only so much to do as they waited for the necessary time to pass.

Eventually, Jack opened his eyes as Stanley shook him awake. "Come on, man," he said. "Time to go."

Feeling stronger for the day of rest, the water and all those onions, Jack, Stanly, and Hector had no trouble finding their way back to the outer reaches of the camp. Piles and piles of dirt provided cover for their advance, darting from one to the other because, as Jack said, it was important to "be all tactical and shit".

Pausing before a stretch of open ground, Stanley pointed around the dirt pile he was behind. "See that?" he said, pointing at one hole up ahead.

"That's it?" Hector asked, and Stanley nodded. "Positive."

They broke from cover and sprinted forward, keeping low over the ground. Stanley, carrying Hector's shovel, found the hole- it hadn't gone anywhere- and dropped in. Jack and Hector went prone and looked down nearby. "Is this the hole?" Hector asked.

"Are you sure?" Jack asked, and Stanley nodded as he started to dig.

"Yeah, I'm positive."

After a few moments, Hector shook his head. "This is gonna take too long, man. I'm gonna find another shovel."

Jack thought about it for a second, and then nodded. "Me, too."

"Okay," Stanley said, not even looking up. "Be careful."

Hector sprinted off in the direction of Camp Green Lake, followed closely by Jack. As they got close to the camp's perimeter- there were holes even this close- Jack pulled Hector behind one of the dirt piles. "Okay," he said quietly, "Here's what we do. We wait until it's dark, and then we come out of our little holes. You and me, we each get a shovel, go help Stanley."

It was a sound enough plan; darkness was fast approaching, and they would want to make sure that they weren't spotted sneaking back to camp. The only people who would truly be a problem were the state employees, and most of all the Warden, Dr. Pendanski, and Mr. Sir. But even the campers had the potential to cause trouble; if they saw Jack or Hector, any of them would raise a ruckus, giving the two away.

Finally, after perhaps half an hour, Jack popped up out of his hole, crawling over to Hector's and motioning. "Come on," he said, reaching down and pulling Hector out of the hole. "Let's go."

The two boys advanced quickly and quietly across the cooling, hard ground towards the camp, hiding behind buildings as often as possible. It was dark by the time they got within sight of the Library; as they neared it, Jack grabbed Hector and pulled him behind the shed. Hector looked at him irritably, but Jack pointed towards the large structure a few dozen yards off. It was the shed where the trucks were kept when not in regular use, and the previous water truck was parked inside. Peering around the corner, both Jack and Hector together suppressed laughter; Stanley had really done a number on that Ford's front end. It was quite impossible to tell what brand it was now.

In front of the truck, under a light turned on in the garage, Mr. Sir and Dr. Pendanski were arguing.

"Well, of _course_ she's gonna make you pay for it; it's _your_ truck!" Dr. Pendanski said.

"You're accusin' me of doin' somethin'- you think _I_ did this to my truck?" Mr. Sir yelled back.

"You left the keys, inside the truck, in front of a bunch of- this is a juvenile work camp, with juvenile delinquents."

"Don't get me heated!" Mr. Sir barked. "I'm in no mood, I tell you!"

"Well, don't get mad at me!" Dr. Pendanski snapped back. "Am I the one who left keys in the ignition in a truck with a tank full of gas?"

"What am I supposed to do? Place a guard on the truck?"

"Well," Dr. Pendanski retorted, "I'd consider it! You have got to be kiddin' me! You realise this has now happened _twice_? That Jack kid stole your truck once _before_, and you _still_ _leave the keys in the ignition_? You realise stealin' other people's cars and goin' places in 'em is what he got _sent here for_?"

Hector turned and gave Jack a questioning look, still holding back laughter as they both crouched near the side of the Library. Jack just nodded, sniggering behind one hand.

"You know what?" Mr. Sir said, "Wanna keep makin' smart comments? I bet you're so smart, you can go get me a wrench!"

"Fine, whatever, what kinda wrench?"

"The kind I need to use on this truck! Get me the whole damn set if you like!"

Jack turned to Hector, motioning towards the front doors of the shed. "Try 'em," he said, still watching the two men arguing in front of the water truck.

"Get me a wrench!" Mr. Sir was yelling. "Read my lips if you need to! Get me a wrench!"

Finally, Dr. Pendanski stormed off into the dark, heading away from the garage. "I'm gettin' it, you side-burned Neanderthal!"

Mr. Sir turned and flung some tool towards Pendanski; it clanged off something and the other man yelped in surprise. "Don't you throw nothin' at me!"

"How about those doors!" Jack hissed, but Hector, tugging at them, shook his head. Maybe the lock on them really did work. "No," Hector replied as he shook his head, "Locked."

Hiding quietly in the dark, the two boys waited to see if the coast was clear. When Mr. Sir returned to grumbling and looking over the truck, Jack looked around the front and sides of the shed, Hector joining him as they each searched for a way in. At last, around the left side of the wooden structure, they found it. There was a window on the side of the shed, maybe two feet by two feet, just out of reach for any of the boys individually- but not too much for two of them, together.

Jack crouched under it, the excitement of the event gripping him closely. He hadn't had this much fun since he'd screwed Megan Baker and stolen the pizza boy's Plymouth down the street- and that had been pretty damned fun. "Come on," Jack said, motioning hurriedly. "I'll boost you up!"

Hector hesitated, shaking his head in disbelief as he moved forward. Was he really doing this? Working with the guy he hated most in the whole camp? Of course, stranger things had happened in Hector's life… but not too many.


	31. Chapter 31- The Last Hole

**Chapter XXXI- The Last Hole**

* * *

"All right," Hector said, and climbed up on Jack's bony shoulders.

"You sure you can hold me?" he said doubtfully; Jack was pretty darned lean now that he thought about it. The blonde just snorted. "You sure you can dig?"

Finally, Jack stood slowly up, raising Hector until he could reach the window. Hector reached out and pushed up, gripping the bottom-most half of the two-piece window, knowing the bottom half would slide up. If it was unlocked.

Hector pulled and pushed, trying one way and then another. He put all his strength into it, but the window wouldn't budge. He put a hand to the glass and peered inside; from one of the top panes, he could see the window had some kind of switch on it. "It's locked!" Hector called quietly. "I can see a switch."

Jack swore quietly; they were this close! Finally, he looked up, grunting a little under Hector's weight. Despite being one of the lightest boys at Camp Green Lake, Hector still weighed at least a hundred pounds, and that was a lot to have concentrated at one point on each of your shoulders.

"Come on, down," Jack whispered. "I need you to boost me up. I'll get the window open so you can get in."

Hector looked down, confused. "What're you gonna do?"

"Get down!" Jack hissed. "Hurry up!"

Finally, Hector hopped down, and they switched places. It was harder for Hector; Jack definitely had more muscle, and wasn't as light as Hector. But Hector managed it, his face grim and determined as he stood up, giving Jack a reach to the window.

Jack peered in through the glass; sure enough, there was the little brass switch. Just as Jack realised his plan would make some amount of noise and looked around, realizing he hadn't considered that, Dr. Pendanski came walking back out of the dark towards the truck shed, carrying a case of- presumably- tools. "Well," he called sarcastically, "I rounded up about every tool I could find, but they didn't have a check to Mr. Sir for $2500!"

"You just give me the damn tools, then!" Mr. Sir yelled, and the two immediately took to arguing again.

Beneath Jack, Hector's shoulders trembled. "Hurry up, man!" he hissed. "I can't do this forever!"

"That's what she said," Jack sniggered.

"Yes," Hector grunted. "That would be your mother."

Jack stared down, stunned beyond speech. "Er- did you just-"

"Hurry up!"

"Right." Jack turned back to the task at hand. Drawing back his right hand, he smashed his hand into the central pane of the upper half of the window; the glass was fairly thin, and shattered at the blow. Jack winced, grunting as shards of broken glass dug into the heel of his hand, but he reached in and flicked the switch, drawing his hand back out carefully.

"All right!" Jack called, "I'm coming down!"

He promptly hopped back to the ground, and the two boys again switched places. As Jack stood up with Hector on his shoulders, the smaller boy stared at the damage done to the window.

"This was your plan? You gotta be kidding me," he said, shaking his head in disbelief."

"It worked, didn't it?" Jack grunted, shifting Hector's weight. "Come on, we're burning darkness here."

Hector reached under the window pane, shoving the lower half of the window- and this time it came up. Pulling himself up, Hector stared down into the darkness of the shed; he didn't want to drop without knowing what was beneath the window and land his special place on a pitchfork.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and Hector could see the better part of a hundred shovels and other tools lined up on the wall opposite the door; a few backs of- of all things, gravel- were lying beneath the window. Turning his head behind him, Hector called down, "I'll push the shovels under the door!"

"Then do it, jackass!"

Hector sniggered, amused again at Jack's generally short temper and lack of patience. "Right," he said, once again doing his English butler imitation.

Jack was waiting out in the front of the shed when the two shovels were pushed out from under the doors. He couldn't help but smile when he noticed one of them was his- the special shovel that was slightly shorter, marked by a blue band of tape about the handle.

"Is the coast clear?" Hector whispered from inside; he must have figured out how to unlock the door. Of course, it couldn't be all that hard…

"Sure is," Jack said, not bothering to make up some funny story. A lock clicked, and Hector quietly opened the doors, picking up one shovel as Jack picked up the other. They closed the doors quietly, then hurried back into the darkness as Mr. Sir and Dr. Pendanski occasionally- still- carried on their arguments about the truck.

As they hurried back out from the camp, Jack said quietly, "You know how many holes I've dug since I came here?"

"How many?"

"One hundred and seventy-nine." Jack, his face alive with excitement as adrenaline still coursed through his veins, said "This is gonna be the last one, man. Hole 180; the last hole I ever dig in this friggin' dump. I can feel it."

"Well, then," Hector said as they ran, "This is a very important day for you then, isn't it?"

Jack and Hector gaped when they reached the hole, seeing even in the dark how far Stanley had dug.

"Damn," Jack said, shaking his head in amazement.

Hector stared. "Wow. You've really been workin'!"

"Yeah," Stanley said, "I could use some help, though."

"It's here," Jack said, and Hector hopped into the hole, Jack following shortly afterwards. It was a bit tight with three of them, but the hole was wide as well as deep.

Noticing Stanley had really just been digging downwards, Hector shook his head. "I don't think Kate Barlow would've buried her loot this deep. We need to make the hole wider."

"Yeah," Jack said, "I agree. We definitely need some room down here. Maybe some girls, too."

Hector just laughed. "Man," he said, "What else do you even think about?"

"How pretty I am." Jack smirked as Hector and Stanley laughed.

"Look," Jack said after they dug at the sides of the hole for a minute or two, "Are we even sure Kate Barlow didn't just drop her lipstick here while walking to where she buried the loot?"

"No," Stanley said, not wanting to admit that it was possible they were just wasting their time here.

As much as he didn't want to, Hector had to agree. "Yeah," he said, "I mean, how do we know one of Kate Barlow's gang didn't know to come back here?"

"We don't," Stanley said uneasily, but the three boys kept digging, slowly widening the sides of the hole and tossing the dirt out. Stanley jabbed at the dirt again on his side, but this time, instead of the dry scrape of the steel shovel on dirt, he heard something else.

THUMP.

All three boys stopped, looking at each other. "You hear that?" Stanley said, his hopes soaring.

"Sure did," Hector nodded, and Jack nodded too. All three of them looked at the dirt wall where Stanley had just jabbed the shovel. Together, they nodded, then dug and scraped at that section of the wall.

Abruptly, a space in the wall, perhaps a foot or two wide and tall, crumbled and gave way, revealing a hollow space behind it.

There was a chest behind it; an old one from the look of it. Jack whooped before clapping a hand over his mouth; it couldn't be anything else.

Hector and Stanley reached hurriedly inside, pulling slowly at the chest on Jack's advice, so as to not cause a cave-in.

Jack's voice sounded okay. It really didn't sound half bad. "Keep it coming, keep it coming," he said. "Thing's been down there a hundred years, we can spare a few seconds."

Finally, Stanley gripped the handle on one side and Hector grabbed the bottom, then caught the side as it came out.

"We found it!" Stanley whispered excitedly, and Hector nodded. "Yeah, we did!"

Jack just grinned. He was almost starting to like these two.

Just then the boys noticed footsteps behind them, close to the hole; in their eagerness to find the treasure of Kate Barlow, none of them had thought to watch and make sure no one was coming.

The three looked up just as a large flashlight clicked on, blinding them with the sudden rush of white light. "Thank you," the Warden said with a warm smile on her face, "You boys have been a big help."


	32. Chapter 32- Under Siege

**Chapter XXXII- Under Siege**

* * *

Mr. Sir and the Warden stood over the three boys in the hole, eying the chest with undisguised greed. Just as they started to debate how to get it, though, there was a sudden chorus of hisses; the Warden backed away, stifling a scream when she saw the hole was crawling with yellow-spotted lizards. Mr. Sir jumped back, too; in an instant he had snatched his revolver out of its holster and thumbed back the hammer. But there were at least thirteen lizards in the hole, and the revolver's cylinder held six rounds…

Dr. Pendanski came trotting out to meet them just then, carrying a flashlight of his own. When he heard the hisses and saw the lizards, he jumped back. "Oh, my goodness!"

The lizards hissed and crawled all around; in an instant, they were all over the chest and the floor of the hole; three at least were crawling about the chest and shoulders of each of the three boys who each stayed very still.

"I'll just wait," the Warden said, her moment of panic gone as suddenly as it had appeared. "This won't take long."

"No," Mr. Sir nodded doubtfully, "Won't take long…"

"Hey, guess what, boys?" Dr. Pendanski called cheerfully, looking down at them as he held his flashlight. "And by that I mean Jack and Stanley. Jack, you got laryngitis, and we might just have to release you to a hospital for a while. Who'd have guessed it? And Stanley, even better. You're innocent! Your lawyers came to get you both yesterday. Too bad you weren't there!"

"Don't listen to 'im, Stanley," Hector whispered as a lizard sniffed curiously at his neck, then shook a little- as if it was sneezing.

Jack stood very still near them, a lizard nuzzling at his neck, too- he whimpered quietly when it flicked its tongue across his throat.

"Well," Mr. Sir said with a shrug, "at least now we'll have bodies to give 'em."

"What about Zero?" Dr. Pendanski asked, and Jack almost corrected him to say Hector.

"Zero was never here," the Warden said coldly. "We got lots of holes to choose from."

"And Richie?" Pendanski asked, mostly because he was curious.

The Warden smiled a cold, hateful smile; one that made Jack very nervous. His knees felt weak.

"Bury the prince with the pauper," she said calmly, and Jack whimpered.

"Not so brave now, are you, tough guy?" Dr. Pendanski laughed.

"Fuck you," Jack spat through stiff jaws. "I'm gonna get outta here. Go home. When my dad hears about this-"

Mr. Sir chuckled grimly. "Your dad. I worked for your dad once, Jack. Lots of private contractors to hire for security purposes, you know." He tilted the revolver, as if to give Jack a better look at it. "When you're a ghost, Jack, 'cause I know you'll be one soon, float home and ask your dad how Steven Merridew struck it rich in the Civil War. Wasn't because he served on Jeff Davis or Lincoln's cabinet, no sir."

Jack stared straight at the other side of the hole, resolutely not listening.

_Just ignore him_, Jack told himself with determination, _and perhaps he'll go away_.

But Mr. Sir didn't feel like going away just yet. "No," he said, looking straight at his target, "Your great-great-granddaddy Steven was the best gun-runner the Old Line State ever saw. Sold the Union and Confederate armies just as many of them fine British Enfields as they'd like to get their hands on."

"My family fought in the war," Jack spat tightly. "Fought for the South. For Maryland, you faggot."

Mr. Sir just laughed. "Oh, yeah. Tough guy, huh? Just keep it up, boy. You're gonna be a dead tough guy, soon. But you ask your dad sometime. Ask him for me. I just wanna know how many kids _his_ bullets have killed…"

Stanley and Hector, still gripping the chest and holding it with care was the lizards crawled over him, looked at Jack; he had a death grip on his shovel and was staring hard at the other side of the wall. Four lizards were crawling about his shoulders now; down on the floor of the hole, one sniffed and flicked its tongue at his feet, then sneezed and hissed irritably, crawling away.

"Don't listen to 'im… Jack," Hector whispered, but Jack stayed frozen, giving no indication if he'd heard.

"Oh, just knock it off," the Warden said, growing bored. "His great-great-granddaddy's a ghost. He will be soon. We never found him, or Zero. The Prince and the Pauper," she repeated, grimly liking the name. This skinny little blonde shit had caused her so much trouble, and now she had him right where she wanted him. She'd see his spirit break before the lizards got him. That was happening a little already…

"You know how long I've been waiting for this?" the Warden said bitterly. "My granddaddy owned the whole lake; then it dried up. He drove himself crazy out here, diggin' holes. Made me dig, too- even on Christmas."

The Warden could still hear her grandfather, driving that damned white DeSoto out on the lake every morning and nodding to himself. "Today's the day," he'd say. And every day, it wasn't. Once in a while, his granddaughter would say, "I'm tired of this, Grandpa!" To which his answer always was, "That's too damn _bad_! You keep diggin'!"

And one day, the girl had sassed back, "Well, excuse me."

Stanley glanced off to his left; Jack looked positively ill. Slowly, very slowly, he slid down the side of the hole, finally sitting down on its bottom, a vacant, shocked look on his face.

The lizards crawled, and the night dragged on. Mr. Sir, the Warden, and Dr. Pendanski all kept a wary vigil, and the boys in the hole stayed nice and still, not wanting to do any more to upset the lizards than they already had by disturbing their nest.

"Come on guys," Jack whispered. "Sit down."

And imitating Jack, the two boys holding the chest slowly slid down, their backs against the wall, and eventually sat down with the chest between them. Lizards crawled all over them, one or two even sitting on top of Stanley's head at one point.

After perhaps an hour of waiting, the Warden started to look irritated. Now and then she would snap out some irritated comment or question, like "This is taking too long," or "Why aren't you boys dead yet?"

But neither the boys nor the lizards answered. The night dragged on, and finally, close to dawn, the boys actually fell asleep for a few minutes. One angry hiss from a lizard woke them all up, though, and that was that.

Perhaps an hour after dawn, the Warden just gave up and stared down at the boys in the hole, her hands on her hips. She looked as tired as she was annoyed; there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Maybe we should just shoot 'em," she said irritably.

Dr. Pendanski looked at her uncertainly. He'd gone back to camp towards dawn, telling the other supervisors to keep the boys confined to the mess hall. "The lizards, or the kids?"

Mr. Sir stood up from where he'd been sitting. "You don't wanna shoot into them lizards," he said, "It'll get 'em leapin' up all over the place."

"I just wanna know why they haven't been bitten yet," the Warden said.

"Don't we all," an exhausted Jack deadpanned, but only an equally tired Hector and Stanley heard him.

Suddenly, Mr. Sir looked up, staring off into the distance. "Oh, crap," he said quietly.

The Warden looked that way, too, and abruptly said, "Oh, Christ."

Heading for the camp and closing fast was not just a couple of cars; it was a convoy. A dark Crown Victoria with the seal of the State of Texas on the front doors, a black Jaguar, a green Mercedes, and a white Grand Marquis.

"That can't be them already!" the Warden exclaimed, unable to believe how ridiculous this whole thing was turning out to be.

"It ain't the Girl Scouts sellin' cookies," Mr. Sir said quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice. The Warden gave him a sharp look, but Mr. Sir just shrugged. She then turned to Dr. Pendanski.

"All right," the Warden said, "Keep holding the boys in the mess hall. Tell 'em not to talk to anyone. As long as they're quiet, they won't have to dig any more holes… but if they talk, they'll be severely punished."

"What should I tell 'em we'll do if they do talk?" Dr. Pendanski asked uncertainly. The Warden just looked at him like he was an idiot. "Use your imagination!" she said, and the camp counselor turned and hurried back towards the camp. He slipped and fell into one of the holes on his way back, crying out in almost comic surprise. "Whuh!"

Hector smiled, holding back a laugh. Stanley chuckled a little; even Jack's tired features formed into a slight smile.

Gazing down into the hole, watching the lizards growl and purr softly as they crawled around, Mr. Sir shook his head. "I just don't get it," he said, "But nothin' makes sense around here anymore."

The four cars turned almost in unison, changing course as they noticed the camp's top leadership clustered around a hole a short distance from the camp. They drove as close as they could, then halted, pulling up and parking in a row.

Dr. Pendanski could be heard greeting them, having diverted from his path back to the camp mess hall to intercept the visitors. He was trying to stall for time, clearly, but a large man with a deep, booming voice hauled his briefcase out of the car and all but walked right over the much lighter camp counselor.

In the distance, all three boys could hear the arguing, getting a little closer every few seconds. The big man and his deep voice were apparently leading the charge, sweeping aside Dr. Pendanski's attempts at appeasing him with such brusque responses as, "Don't be impertinent to me, sir!" and "I'm here to talk to the one in charge of this camp. I am already aware that person is not you." Finally, the big man could be heard saying impatiently, "Shall I file a lawsuit now, or later?"

Suddenly the footsteps were approaching a lot faster; Dr. Pendanski seemed to have less to say.

As they did, Jack began to smile. He knew that big man with the deep, booming voice. "Don't worry, guys," he said quietly. "Everything's gonna be all right."

The three boys were very tired; this must have been what the beginning of real exhaustion was like. It wasn't just the hours they'd been up- it was that they'd been truly awake almost the entire time, heart rates up and adrenaline in their systems. The body could endure quite a lot riding on adrenaline alone; fear had a way of driving the body onward in times of stress. But constant, unremitting stress could eventually do just the opposite; the body would in time wear down, and the individual become sluggish and worn out. Even so, all three of them felt a little hopeful; like Mr. Sir said, it wasn't the Girl Scouts selling cookies.

As the group of visitors neared Jack's 180th hole, Hector, who had been quietly studying the roof of the trunk, glanced over at Stanley.

"Stanley," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Is your last name your first name spelled backwards?"


	33. Chapter 33- Le Jour de Gloire

**Chapter XXXIII- Le Jour de Gloire**

* * *

**A/N: Means "Day of Glory" in French**

* * *

Mr. Sir and the Warden hurried towards the approaching group, meeting them a few holes away.

"Don't go no further!" Mr. Sir said, waving his arms in warning. "There's danger!"

"Where's Stanley?" Ms. Morengo asked impatiently. Mr. Montgomery demanded, "Just what's going on here?"

"I'll tell you what happened!" the Warden said irritably. "Stanley and Jack broke into my cabin about an hour ago. I woke up, saw 'em runnin' out with my trunk! They ran out here, and I don't know what the _hell_ they were thinkin'!"

"I witnessed it myself, counselor," Dr. Pendanski added, nodding. "Don't go too close!" he cautioned, and the advancing party of visitors stopped.

"Oh, my God!" Ms. Morengo exclaimed, gasping sharply.

"Oh, dear," Mr. Montgomery said. He looked cautiously at one of the Texas state marshals. "I believe this is your field, sir."

"Don't move," the marshal said to the group, then looked sharply at the three camp supervisors. "How long have they been _down_ there?"

Before anyone could answer, a tall, stern-looking man in a suit- the driver of the Crown Victoria- asked sharply, "Have you tried to get them _out_?"

"Well, what do you suggest, Mr. Attorney General?" the Warden asked.

"This would not have been a problem, had these children been released to us _yesterday_!" Layton T. Montgomery rumbled, in control of the conversation once again.

"Your delays only put them in danger!" Ms. Morengo added, silently thanking herself and God that she had listened to the portly attorney's offer of cooperation when he'd called later the previous afternoon.

The man had been the very form of generosity, politely hinting at how much faster he could make the process go if the two lawyers worked together- and that might not need take any form beyond the two of them making sure the next effort was coordinated. And that everybody- everybody- moved on Camp Green Lake at the same time. He had also indicated that he knew the state's Attorney General from earlier in his career, and Carla Morengo could take a hint. She'd agreed- and coordinated efforts to get the attention of the Attorney General's office had been the goal.

It had certainly paid off well, considering the Attorney General of Texas was out here in person this morning, and looking none too pleased about it. Montgomery looked ready to swell up like a balloon, and he kept glancing at the three camp supervisors like he was having difficulty figuring out which one he wanted to heave his no-doubt heavy briefcase at.

"Excuse me," the Warden said, and over Montgomery's groan of irritation retorted, "This wouldn't have happened if _these two_ weren't _thieves_!"

"_What_?" Jack said, looking up in sudden indignation.

"A _thief_?" Stanley echoed, equally outraged.

The Warden stood her ground, looking down from close by the hole. "That's right."

"C'est faux!" Jack said, standing up and moving through the lizards to Stanley. His voice was ragged- but he was speaking at a halfway normal voice level for the first time in days. He boosted Stanley out of the hole, then gripped Stanley's extended hand and stood up himself. "That's a lie!" Stanley declared, saving everybody the trouble of translating.

"Stanley didn't steal anything!" Hector exclaimed, grunting as he shoved the heavy trunk up over the edge of the hole. Without a word, Jack walked around to that side of the hole. He knelt and held out a hand to Hector; as the smaller boy looked up, he could have sworn he saw a slight smile on the blonde's dusty, weary face. They clasped hands, and Jack pulled Hector out of the hole. He promptly lifted the trunk again, doing so with surprisingly little effort.

"Thank God!" the Warden exclaimed, hurrying over and showing exaggerated relief. "Thank God you're okay!" She promptly took hold of the trunk and tried to pull it away.

"Hey," Hector said, gripping the trunk harder. "It's Stanley's! What are you doing?"

"Mr. Montgomery!" Jack hissed, his eyes cold and hard as he stared at the Warden.

"I advise you to let go of that trunk, Ms. Walker!" Layton T. Montgomery boomed, his voice hard and unamused.

"Now, listen!" the Warden cried, looking around with hard eyes. "I could send these two boys right back to _prison_ if I wanted to press charges! However, in view of all the circumstances, I think I'll just-"

The Warden tugged hard at the trunk, but Hector just gripped tighter. "It has his _name _on it!"

Everyone stopped; Jack and the Warden both stared at Jack in surprise. The Warden glanced down, and so did Jack.

Engraved in a metal plate fixed to the trunk's lid: STANLEY YELNATS.

"Oh, my God," the Warden breathed, but Jack just grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"See?" Hector said, looking down and reading the name again. "Stan-ley, Yel-nats."

Dr. Pendanski stared over at Hector, dumbfounded. "He-he can't read!"

"Apparently he can," Montgomery said dryly. "I wonder what _else_ you don't know, _Doctor_?"

The Warden just kept on staring down at the name on the trunk. "It's imp- it's impo- it's imposs-"

She couldn't even say it.

Jack separated from the other two boys as they headed back to camp; with his family's lawyer here and his return to Camp Green Lake unlikely- at least, not very soon- Jack seemed to be remembering he wasn't supposed to like these two. He kept looking at them uncertainly, though, and really couldn't make up his mind either way.

The two lawyers, the state marshals, and the Attorney General escorted the whole group back to the assembled cars, moving them back to Camp Green Lake's central building to deal with what was to happen next.

Once there, Jack stood off to the side, leaning up against the side of the building under the porch, saying nothing. He looked worn out, and not just from lack of sleep. Too many things had changed for him in the past few days; too much had happened, too fast. He wasn't used to this.

Mr. Montgomery stood close by Jack, glowering at the camp officials as if he held them personally responsible for Jack's trouble- which, to be fair, they at least partially were. When it came out that Hector had done the damage, Jack spoke up, quietly pointing out that he'd been fighting Stanley, and that Hector had simply intervened to help his friend. When Mr. Montgomery point-blank asked if Jack wanted to press any charges over it, Jack just shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "No need to."

Stanley and Hector both looked at him, surprised and more than a little grateful, but Jack just looked away.

It wasn't long, though, before the Warden started to argue again. The two Texas state marshals had placed Stanley Yelnats I's trunk in their Grand Marquis and followed Ms. Morengo and the others back to camp. They handed the trunk over to her once they got there, and an argument broke out just as soon as Ms. Morengo was placing the trunk in the boot of her Jaguar.

"That is my trunk!" she shouted angrily, sounding a little desperate. "It was on my land- it was on my property! You have _no right_ to take it!"

"Don't touch it!" Ms. Morengo warned when the Warden tried to reach for it. "Back off, now; it's _Stanley's_, that's _it_!"

The Warden kept arguing, but one of the marshals finally stepped in. "Miss Walker," he said calmly, "Please step away from the back of the car." The Warden gave him a look, and the marshal just looked calmly back. Finally, the Warden reluctantly stepped back on the porch, but she crossed her arms and refused to go any further.

Mr. Sir, who had said nothing since he'd appeared to recognize one of the marshals out at the hole, had backed into the doorway of the camp office, and was suddenly very fascinated by whatever was on his clipboard.

Ms. Morengo looked at Stanley, a little impatient. "Stanley, come on. Get in the car. Your parents are waiting; let's go."

There was a pause; Stanley glanced at Hector, who was standing next to him. "Well, I can't leave without Hector," he said, as if that should have been obvious.

"Stanley," Ms. Morengo said, "There's nothing that I can do for your friend."

Hector glanced up at Stanley, nodding a little. "I'll be okay."

Dr. Pendanski stepped over, putting an arm around Hector's shoulders. "Don't worry," he said cheerfully, "We'll take good care of Hector."

"Yeah, bull_shit_."

Everybody turned and looked at Jack; looking up, the blonde just met their eyes rather matter-of-factly. Clearing his throat, Jack spoke quietly, but with a clarity that surprised even himself. His voice still sounded strained, but not as desperately so as it had been. He looked at Ms. Morengo and said, "I think you should try, ma'am." He then went back to staring at the porch floorboards with his arms crossed, and said no more.

"Earl," Ms. Morengo said after a moment, "Can you get me Hector's file?"

"And Jack's, if you please, sir," Mr. Montgomery said with perfect courtesy. "I will need the report on this fight and the date and time it occurred. For the doctors."

"Certainly Layton, Carla," the Attorney General said, nodding politely to the both of them. He then turned to the Warden. "Miss Walker?" he asked, a little impatiently. "Well?"

The Warden stood silent for a few moments, then looked at Dr. Pendanski. "Get me the file of Hector Zeroni." She paused, then added "And the report on Jack's injury."

Dr. Pendanski stared, stupefied; the former had been destroyed on the Warden's orders after Zero ran away, and the latter- well, the latter had never been written in the first place.

"Just do it!" the Warden snapped, and Pendanski hurried into the camp office. Inside, he and Mr. Sir began a quiet yet furious argument. It mostly consisted of variations of "What're we gonna do?" and "I don't know!" and "You better think of something!"

Just then, somebody stuck their head out of the mess hall door; the last supervisor in there had left twenty minutes ago, and as much as the boys liked not having to do anything for once, it was more than bizarre that they had suddenly and unexpectedly been confined to the mess hall that morning.

"Hey!" a voice shouted in elation, "They're alive!"

_Bang_!

In an instant the mess hall door flew open, and Zigzag elbowed his way through the gathering crowd of boys hurrying out, his height and strength helping with the effort. He pushed his way to the fore and called back to the others, "See!" he said triumphantly, "I told you! I _told_ you guys Godfather was gonna make it back!"

Jack flashed them a brilliant smile. "What's up, guys?"

"Man," Armpit grinned, "That ain't no Godfather! That's Richie _Rich_, dudes!"

"Yeah," Squid laughed, "Only dude here ever had two nicknames!"

"And three escapes!" Magnet added, grinning. "You just crazy, man. _Loco_."

"Damn!" Armpit exclaimed, seeing the other two boys for the first time. "Caveman! Zero! You guys made it back!"

The boys of D Tent rushed forward, joyfully welcoming back their three famous comrades who had escaped into the desert and come back again- Jack for the third time.

The boys of D Tent embraced their returned members, hugging them and for once not hiding the fact that they rather liked the three of them. Jack smiled, liking the attention, but gasped suddenly as Zigzag almost crushed him in a bear hug.

"Air!" Jack gasped after a few moments, and Zigzag let him go, stepping back and clearing his throat. "Glad you made it back, man," Zigzag said solemnly.

Right next to him, Magnet ruffled Hector's hair and grinned. "We thought you dudes were buzzard food for sure, man!"

"Man," Armpit grimaced as he noticed the smell of the three for the first time, "you _stink_, dudes! What you been _eatin'_, man?"

The other boys noticed this too, and suddenly they were all holding their noses or fanning the air with their hands. "Onions," Magnet said, "You guys smell like onions!"

"Probably all they been eatin' the past few days," Squid drawled. "Find an onion patch in the desert, boys?"

"Yeah," Jack grinned, and it was pretty close to the truth.

Dr. Pendanski reemerged from the camp office; right away it was clear he had nothing in his hands. "Well," he began, smiling nervously, "There seems to be no file of… Hector Zeroni. And I was unable to locate the requested incident report, unfortunately."

"What?" Armpit asked, surprised.

"Is that so?" one of the state marshals asked, highly skeptical from his tone of voice.

"Missin' entire boys' _files_? Incident reports _gone_? Just what kinda camp are you _runnin'_ here, Miss Walker?" the Attorney General demanded, his arms crossed and his face written with annoyance, glaring at the Warden from under his cowboy hat.

"A _nice_ one," the Warden snapped irritably. "If the state would give us some _money_, maybe we could have some decent filin'!"

"Seems to me like you can't properly manage what you've got," the Attorney General shot back, drawing a cell phone from his pocket. "I am ordering an investigation of this facility." He gave her a pointed glance. "And we're gonna _start_ with your financial and inmate records."

"Hey, lady," Armpit called to Ms. Morengo, "You got a pen and paper?"

Morengo shook her head. "No." She glanced to her right, though, and caught sight of Mr. Sir, still hiding behind his clipboard and glancing at her nervously. She pointed at him, raising her voice. "But it looks like _he_ does!"

"Me?" Mr. Sir said, still nervous in a way that looked nothing like the supremely confident man the boys were used to.

"Yes," Ms. Morengo nodded, and Mr. Sir reluctantly stepped forward and handed her a pencil. She just kept looking at him. "Paper?" she asked, and he handed over the clipboard. Mr. Sir carefully turned away, pulling up the collar on his jacket; one of the state marshals started looking at him, staring hard. He had a look on his face that plainly said, _Don't I know him from somewhere?_

Armpit took the clipboard and pencil, scrawling a name and number on the paper. He tore the piece at the bottom off, handing the piece of paper to Stanley. "Hey," Armpit said solemnly, "Call my mom. Tell her I said I was sorry. Tell her _Theodore_ said he was sorry."

"I will, man," Stanley nodded. "I will."

Jack looked away; he couldn't take this. This was not his thing at all.

Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the state marshal who'd been looking at Mr. Sir grinning, calling out cheerfully as the camp supervisor carefully tried to retreat back into his office. "Marion_ Sevillo_!"

Mr. Sir stopped. "Oh, crap," he said in a small voice.

Stepping forward and grinning triumphantly, the marshal said, "Been a long time since El Paso, ol' Marion." He spun Mr. Sir around and made him face the wall, expertly snatching Mr. Sir's revolver out of its holster. "You're in violation of your parole, carryin' this weapon!"

"Uh," the Warden started awkwardly, "I had _no_ knowledge of that!"

"Yeah," Mr. Sir said as the marshal continued patting him down, "Just like you didn't know Pendanski wasn't no _doctor_, neither."

The boys broke up laughing, jeering and pointing at a suddenly very uncomfortable-looking Mr. Pendanski.

"Sit down, Marion," the state marshal ordered, forcing Mr. Sir down on the bench outside the camp office. "You're under arrest again."

"Hey," Squid called, "Marion! I didn't know that was a _man's_ name!"

Even Jack grinned and laughed at that; once the laughter had subsided, Mr. Sir said, "It ain't," which set the laughter off once more.

"Yoo-hoo!" Zigzag called, "Marion! Shoulda told us your _real_ name; we coulda called you Miss Ma'am!" The laughter multiplied yet again, many of the boys doubling over and trying to stand up straight.

"Okay!" the Attorney General announced, walking back from where he'd gone to make his call at the end of the porch. "This facility is now under the direct jurisdiction of the State of Texas and the Attorney General's office."

"_What_?" the Warden half-exclaimed, turning to look at him.

The Attorney General turned to his marshals as if he hadn't heard. "Boys," he said as he pointed at the bench, "Put these three bozos right over there. Let them see the _other_ side of the criminal justice system!"

A cheer went up; the boys of every tent in the camp had heard that, and were cheering and hollering for all they were worth. So many of them had been here for months, and nothing could have pleased them more than to see the three who had controlled their lives the most- and done absolutely nothing to correct any part of the behavior that had brought them here- placed beside the boys, as far as the law was concerned.

"Eat shit and _die_!" Jack cheered, his voice breaking a little- but coming out, loud and clear. Mr. Montgomery looked at Jack like he'd just parted the Red Sea, but the boys' cheers just redoubled. Zigzag and Squid cheered the loudest, embracing the lanky blonde and yelling, "Richie's back! Richies' back!"

High above, thunder rumbled.

Everyone halted, looking up; none of the boys had heard that sound since coming here.

Jack pushed himself off the side of the building, walking slowly out onto the open ground. He looked up; gray, even dark gray clouds had been moving into the area. They were coming overhead now, having apparently snuck up in all the excitement without anyone noticing them.

Jack Merridew, known to his fellow inmates at Camp Green Lake as Richie Rich, Godfather, then Richie Rich again, stood out on the open ground in front of the camp office. Slowly he began to smile, raising his arms straight out and closing his eyes, turning his face up to the darkening sky. He was only dimly aware of other boys joining him, looking sometimes at him and sometimes at the sky. Jack smiled, and the sky rumbled again, and again, and for the first time in 100 years, rain began to fall on Green Lake, Texas.


	34. Chapter 34- There and Back Again

**Chapter XXXIV- There and Back Again**

* * *

The boys of Camp Green Lake were elated; some fifty or sixty in all, they ran out of their tents, out from under the porch of the main camp building, whooping and cheering as the rain began to fall, fast and heavy. The hard ground could not absorb the sudden downpour fast enough, and within minutes several of the boys were, unashamed, playing in puddles for the first time in ten years. Some had begun to wonder if they'd ever see a puddle again.

Jack stayed where he was for perhaps a full minute; then he melted away into the crowd, vanishing like he'd never been there in the first place. Stanley and Hector saw him after a few minutes, pushing his way through the crowd of cheering, celebrating boys in their orange work uniforms. The lanky blonde was carrying three backpacks- the ones he, Stanley, and Hector had arrived at Camp Green Lake in. Jack had been at Camp Green Lake for six months, three weeks, and four days. He could feel it now, feel it for sure. He was out of here; he was done. With its top three officials arrested and the camp itself under the direct control of the State of Texas, the odds of any of the boys remaining here long had dropped to zero. Zero… Jack almost had to laugh at that one.

He made his way through the crowd, slapping palms and shaking hands, saying his last-minute goodbyes. Ms. Morengo was calling for Hector and Stanley, trying to get them over to the car, but as the two boys spotted Jack, they waited. He'd earned that much.

"Hey," Jack said, flashing a brilliant grin, looking so much like his old self again. He wasn't entirely the same, though; you could tell that when he looked at Hector. There was a definite caution in his eyes now, and perhaps some newfound respect.

"Hey," Stanley said, and Hector just nodded.

Finding one last question he had to ask, Stanley said quietly, "Was it true? What Mr. Sir said?" He wouldn't have asked, but he remembered the look on Jack's face from a few hours ago. What Mr. Sir said had rattled Jack, perhaps shocked him to the core. It had clearly struck on something- scored a hit on some private curiosity or doubt. Stanley had to ask, because he just needed to know. Jack- soon to be JM, perhaps, if a good agent took a liking to his song lyrics and the melody that came with them- dropped his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. He clearly wished Stanley and Hector hadn't heard that.

Finally, he looked up at Stanley, meeting the other boy's eyes easily enough. "I don't know, Stanley. I don't. But…" Jack hesitated, clearly at a loss for words. This was likely the first time he'd ever had to think about this, say something like this, in his life. "I-I think I'm gonna have to talk to my dad when I get home," Jack said, "Sit down and ask. I think I need to ask some questions, myself," he said, with an ironic smile and nod for all the questions the Caveman had just had to ask him.

Jack paused again, as if thinking of whether he should say something more. "Maybe I can talk to him," Jack said, his voice gaining a little confidence. "If it's true- I don't know." Then he smiled. "Maybe Dad can just by half of Chrysler Defense."

The two boys laughed, and even Hector's features showed a smile. Then Jack stood there again, pausing in the rain as he realised this was, as they said… it.

Jack held out a hand to Stanley, smiling a little. "Hey," he said, "You take care of yourself back in the world, okay? Not everybody's as nice as my D Tent boys."

Stanley shook his hand, then grabbed Jack's bony frame and hugged him. "Gonna miss you, chief," he said suddenly, and Jack backed away after a moment, his face flushed pink. "Uh," he stammered, "Uh. Well." Then Jack looked at Hector, and for a moment tried to turn away. But he made himself hold out a hand.

"Zer-Hector," Jack said, "Good luck, man."

Hector Zeroni looked at Jack Merridew for a moment; Jack's slight smile became an awkward one, and he considered just jamming his hand in his pocket and walking away. But finally Hector met Jack's eyes, shaking hands with him. "Likewise," he finally added, and couldn't help but smile a little at the stunned look on the taller boy's face.

With a final salute to the two, Jack tossed them their bags and headed for Mr. Montgomery's car. He shook hands with all the D Tent boys along the way, grinning as he tossed Twitch a fist-bump instead. Squid spoke solemnly when he gave his farewell. "Hey," he said, "Don't let the world forget about us, okay?" Jack took that to mean not just Camp Green Lake's boys, but all the troubled teenagers who'd run afoul of the system but were still trying to make it. Just as best as they knew how. Jack nodded after a moment, promising that he would.

Then he made it to the Benz's trunk, tossing his bag inside as Mr. Montgomery, wincing as he both smelled Jack again and noticed how soaking wet he was, opened it and then slammed it shut.

A hand tapped Jack on the shoulder as Jack reached for the door handle of the rear passenger door of his family's lawyer's emerald-green car. Jack turned around, not sure who to expect.

It was Zigzag.

Noticeably taller than Jack, he looked down at him now, his face difficult to read. Solemnly, standing in the pouring rain beside the car, the two boys shook hands. Then Zigzag said, "Aw, hell," and grabbed Jack again, and the two boys hugged for just a moment, each gripping the other tightly. Looking Jack in the eyes, Zigzag said with some effort, "Take care of yourself, Jack."

"You too, Ricky," Jack said. "Take care of yourself."

"I will."

They shook hands one more time, and Mr. Montgomery started the low-growling diesel of his Mercedes-Benz. Jack got in, and just as Stanley did as the Jaguar started to pull away, rolled down his window.

Mr. Montgomery winced again, fearing for the good health of his car's leather seats enough as it was. But the lanky blonde in the rearview mirror was grinning like an imp, waving and hollering "D Tent!" over and over as the Mercedes began to move away. Finally, Jack pumped a fist in the air, now leaning out and facing directly behind him. He raised his voice one more time, taking quite a risk- yet somehow knowing he was safe to take it. That thought occurred to Jack again; _God bless the onions_.

Jack pumped his fist in the air, calling, "Nunquam Domandi!" He knew most of the boys wouldn't understand it; some might not even be able to hear him over the shouting and the rain. But Zigzag heard him, and couldn't help but smile as he watched the black Jaguar and the dark green Mercedes disappear into the distance.

"Nunquam Domandi," Zigzag repeated, a smile creeping onto his face. "Never to be tamed." That was probably Jack's personal motto- and, if he had his way, his epitaph. Famed celebrity or no.

Leaning back in his seat, Jack rolled up the window finally. Mr. Montgomery, a true professional, was refraining from making comment on the awful stink Jack was making in the car. Jack's smile stayed on his lips for a time, but slowly faded as he began to think of what was next. Not just talking to his father, for once asking a question and not just requesting, but demanding the truth. There was so much to do; he'd have to polish up his sheets of paper from camp, look over his lyrics. Go to an agent with them. He'd be at a hospital for weeks yet; there'd have to be all sorts of exams, medicine prescribed. _Perhaps_, Jack thought with a smile, _some speech therapy with nurses. Pretty, _female_ nurses_.

But even that thought- so much like Jack and the way he did things; slowly faded away as Jack's thoughts returned to the camp and the life he was leaving behind him. He thought of D Tent; of Theodore (Armpit), of Alan (Squid), of Hector (Zero), Stanley (Caveman) and… Zigzag. Ricky.

Jack was halfway down the road when he realised he'd never learned his last name.


End file.
